


Now or Never

by Slimslash, without_me



Category: BSB, NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Bootyboys, Fabulous Popstars, M/M, OTT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2466686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slimslash/pseuds/Slimslash, https://archiveofourown.org/users/without_me/pseuds/without_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It ain't over til it's over. (And sometimes, not even then.) Lance/Nick saga written in 2003.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now or Never

The restaurant empties while Nick's eating, the late lunch crowd headed back to work or out onto the water. Early spring's a great time in the Keys, lots of sun but not too many tourists, and he's taking advantage of the break the best way he knows how, spending every day he can on his boat. 

So when his phone rings, all he's thinking about is getting back outside, and he flips it open without checking the display. "H'lo?" 

"Hey." 

Nick doesn't answer. His heart is pounding, suddenly, and he's wondering if he can just hang up, rewind, pretend this didn't happen. "Um. Remember me?" Lance asks, finally. 

Nick grits his teeth. "Yeah. It's been a long time," he replies coldly, "but I do recognize the voice. So, why this unexpected pleasure? You... celebrating an anniversary or something?" 

There's an awkward pause, and Nick's wondering again if he can maybe drop his phone off the edge of the dock outside and walk away. He pushes the remains of his burger across the table and looks around for the waiter. He hates talking on the phone in restaurants. Why'd he even answer? 

"Nick. I, uh..." Lance seems uncharacteristically tongue-tied. "No, not.... I just wanted to say hi. It's. You know. It's been a while." 

Nick holds his breath and then lets it out silently. It's been more than _a while_. 

"I've missed you," Lance continues quietly, and Nick frowns against the automatic warmth he feels at Lance's words. It's not going to work this time, he thinks. 

"Coulda fooled me," he finally says. "They do have phones in Russia, right? And... wherever else you've been hangin' out?" 

Lance doesn't answer right away. Nick focuses out the window. The sun is bright on the water in the marina. He should say goodbye, head out on the boat and forget all this dysfunctional shit. 

Then Lance speaks, and it's too late. "Yeah. They do." He sounds different now, and Nick strains a little to hear him better, trying to picture what face goes with this quiet voice. "I just. I'm sorry, Nick. I didn't know if you'd want to, you know. Hear from me. After last time." 

Last time. Nick closes his eyes, as if that'll block out the images. Showing up unannounced at the hotel after an 'Nsync show, to surprise Lance. JC sneaking him up to Lance's room like he used to back in Europe. 

Nick's wondered a million times in the past year whether JC knew Lance wasn't alone. If he did it on purpose. Like, for Nick's own good. _He did me a favor_ , Nick reminds himself through force of habit. _Whether he knew it or not_. 

"So, how's Justin?" He's talking softly, of course, but he makes his voice bright as he forces the question out. Not going to let Lance--or himself--off the hook now. 

"Nick." 

"No, how is he? You do know, don't you?" 

"Nick," Lance repeats. "We're not. It's not like that." 

Nick knows his laugh sounds harsh. "That's too bad. You guys made a cute couple." 

"God!" Frustration creeps into Lance's voice. "Just give me a chance, okay?" 

"I could have given you a chance if you'd called a year ago." Nick grips the phone tighter. "Not now." 

Lance seems to hesitate on the other end. "I'm sorry. For everything." He sighs. "I should've called sooner." 

Nick switches the phone to his other hand and motions for the check. The waiter nods. 

"I have to go." It's easier to say than he expects. 

"Listen, I'm coming to Florida later this week. I was hopin' we could get together." 

Nick frowns at the tabletop. "I told you, man, it's too late." 

"No, I don't mean. Not to pick up where we were before." Lance pauses, and Nick hears him take a deep breath. "Maybe we could, you know. Start back at the beginning." 

The beginning? It's been years. Nick can hardly remember what it felt like to be sixteen. And if he had it to do over again, he wouldn't sign on for it. The cheating, the hurt. He shudders. 

Then Lance continues, and his voice is lower now, low and intimate like Nick hasn't heard it in a long time. "Nick. Please. I've missed you. And I want to, I think we can make it better this time. Different." Nick shivers again, but this time it's because of something else. The bad old days weren't _all_ bad. "Can I call you?" 

Nick bites his lip before he answers. "It's a free country, man." He hates the spark of hope that comes with the words, but it warms him, too. "Listen. I've gotta go. I'm headed out for the rest of the day." 

"Have fun," Lance says, and he sounds happier than he did before. "Talk to you soon." 

Nick shakes his head as he lopes out into the spring sunshine. It's probably dumb to feel hopeful. Howie would be reminding him of last year if he knew. His therapist would be talking about boundaries and self-preservation. 

Well, he remembers last year just fine. And he remembers all that boundary stuff too. But it's too pretty a day to worry about that shit. For now he thinks the smartest thing to do is get out on the water and do his best to pretend that phone call never happened. Chances are whatever Lance is smoking will have worn off by tomorrow anyway. If it doesn't... he'll figure that part out later. 

*** 

_Kevin's rage was obvious before anyone said a word. He glared down at the breakfast table, eyebrows bristling low, and Nick winced._

_When Johnny started explaining, Nick was just glad it wasn't anything **he'd** done that put that look on Kevin's face. After hearing about the new band, though, he wished it had only been that. _

_"Don't worry, Nick." Brian hugged him tight, afterwards. "It don't matter how many other bands they start. The five of us, we're brothers, we stick together. They can't compete with the best."_

_Nick knew he was right, but it still sucked._

_He hated 'Nsync._

*** 

The ocean has always felt to Nick like the only place he can really think. Even today it relaxes him, the water and the sun and the sky. Life is good. Still, he can't completely get Lance's call out of his head. 

He'd almost given up. Giving up dreading, hoping, whatever. It's been a long time, he realizes now, since his stomach clenched whenever his phone rang. It's been months since he felt that dual spike of relief and disappointment every time he saw it wasn't Lance's number on the display. 

All those months, and Lance can bring it all back with one call. It's not fair. Fuckin' Lance. 

_No_ , Nick reminds himself. _He can't bring it all back. He can't make it happen by himself, you have to play too._ He's not going to play this time. 

He's learned a lot since last year. He didn't go to therapy to talk about Lance, he went because he _had_ to. He didn't really have a choice, after he got in trouble. But Lance's name seemed to come up a lot, even before the thing with Justin. 

"What five things in the world make you angriest?" Karen asked, the first time he went. He started talking about Lance and couldn't stop. She'd already signed a confidentiality agreement, and she'd _asked_ , hadn't she? So he told her. By the time he finished, their session was up, and he never even got to the other four things. Probably better that way, he'd thought. 

Later, when Lance wasn't around anymore, when they'd moved on to his "core issues," as she put it, he'd realized that it wasn't really all about Lance. His mom could make him angrier than Lance ever had. And make him feel worse, too. It took a while to admit that. 

"You know your mother's issues aren't your responsibility, Nick," Karen had said. He can't even remember what they'd been talking about, specifically. 

Of course he knew that, he'd replied. He wasn't _really_ stupid. "She was doing her best." 

"Very likely. But that doesn't mean she was right." 

"She just wanted us--me--to succeed." 

"Do you think that made it all right for her to expect a twelve-year-old boy to function as an adult?" 

He'd never really thought about it that way before. 

At his final appointment, right before his tour started, she'd asked him another question. 

"Name five things that make you happy. Off the top of your head." 

"Music. The ocean." Those two were easy. "Aaron." Not that he didn't love the girls, too, and he felt a little guilty for leaving them out, but there was something different about being brothers, and Karen wouldn't judge him for being honest. "Performing, that's different from music." Performing with the guys, or solo, it was good no matter what. 

"And?" she finally prompted him. 

He thought about it. "Being alone," he finally said. 

It's still true, he thinks, bringing the boat in. But it's complicated, too. He misses the fellas. Things aren't as bad as they were for a while, but they still talk more about lawyers than music these days. He misses Aaron, too, since they've both been on the road. Phone calls help, but they aren't the same. 

In a lot of ways, he misses how things used to be. But not how _he_ used to be. And if Lance wants to go back to that, Nick thinks, that's just too bad. 

***

_The bands first met up in Stuttgart for a Bravo photoshoot. 'Nsync was opening for DJ Bobo, and even though Backstreet'd had the same gig just a year before, Nick was snickering._

_Howie told Nick to be nice, but Nick couldn't help himself when the photographer stood him right behind Lance._

_"Get used to second billing," he breathed into Lance's ear. "I hear you're even the replacement guy in 'Nsync. Like a wannabe wannabe."_

_Lance's backbone stiffened. Nick smirked._

_He totally wasn't expecting it when Lance turned around with a bitchy look and said pointedly, "At least I can **sing**."_

*** 

Nick rolls over and groans when the ringing starts. Who calls this early? Even Aaron knows better. He gropes on his nightstand for the phone and squints at the display. Lance. 

He tosses the phone towards the laundry basket and goes back to sleep. 

The faint beeping of the voicemail provides a soundtrack to his dreams, although he doesn't become truly conscious of it until he gets up to piss. The clock in the bathroom says it's 11:19, and he stretches, shrugging his shoulders, as he shuffles back toward the bed. He sits, sighing, and looks at the basket a moment before leaning over and snagging the phone out of it. 

One new message. Nick's already holding the phone, so he lets it play. 

Lance clears his throat, and Nick can't help grinning. He'd bet Lance considered erasing the message and starting over to get rid of that. "Hey," Lance says, the timbre of his voice flattened by the recording. "I, um. Guess it's earlier than I thought, sorry. Anyway, I've got some meetings in Miami today and I was wondering, if you're not busy tonight... I made reservations at the Forge at 9, if you want to--I mean, I really hope you'll, I'd like to have a chance. To talk. At least." A pause, and Nick wishes he could claim, even to himself, that he's not pleasantly surprised at Lance's lack of smoothness. "Okay, you've got my number. Call when you get up, okay? I mean, or--just let me know. About dinner." Nick thinks that's it, waits for the recording to come on and ask if he wants to delete or return the call. But it's Lance's voice again. "Please," he says. "I know we had some... bad times. But there were good times too. Right? I want to see if we can make it better. So I hope you'll come. Tonight." 

Nick finds himself waiting for the punch line, but that's the end of the message. He thumbs the phone off and looks over at his pillow, shaking his head regretfully. He knows he's not getting back to sleep. 

He stands in the shower a long time, letting the water beat down on him, trying not to count off the extra minutes he's making Lance wait for the phone to ring. Why isn't he surprised that Lance expects him to drive two hours to have dinner where it's convenient for Lance? The pisser is that Nick knows he's going to go. 

After the shower comes breakfast, just cold cereal and coffee, but he tries to make it last more than the five minutes it usually takes him. Finally at a little after 12:30 he gives up on rearranging his CDs and goes back into the bedroom to get his cell. 

Maybe Lance is already in his meeting. Maybe he's having lunch by now, somewhere loud where he won't hear the phone. If it goes to voicemail, Nick tells himself, he'll say no. 

But Lance answers between the second and third rings, and the connection's good, and even through whatever the hell technology it is that runs cell phones, the happiness in his voice is clear. "Hey," he says. 

"Hey yourself," Nick answers, just like so many other times. And that, that automatic, familiar response, even after he's gotten over it, over Lance, he has, he _was_ \--it scares him. He's not in the same place he was a year ago. He doesn't want to be. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have--I'm not gonna be able to make it tonight." 

He shouldn't feel guilty. He didn't say he'd see Lance, he doesn't owe Lance anything, not even the courtesy of a return call, but he's giving that much, isn't he? 

There's silence for a moment. "Oh," Lance says, and Nick tries not to picture his face, lips pressed together the way Lance does when he doesn't want to admit he's hurt. 

And that's not Nick's fault, either. Lance can't possibly be hurting as much as he hurt Nick. He deserves this, deserves lots worse than Nick just not driving all the way to fucking Miami to have dinner with him. 

"So, um. Not a good day for you?" Lance's voice sounds different from what Nick's used to. Something he can't put his finger on. "Or is it, you know. The company?" Tentative, that's the word. Lance Bass doesn't do tentative, and Nick knows it's been a very long time since he did. 

It pulls at Nick, drags a response out of him that he's not expecting to offer. 

"Nah." That's vague enough to be somewhere close to honest without being unkind, he thinks. And why the hell does he care how Lance feels? Still, he keeps talking. "I just, I have stuff to do around here today. I don't have, you know, I don't really have time to drive to Miami tonight. So, um. Sorry." Nick picks at the frayed edge of his cutoffs. He's got a call with his manager scheduled for later, but he can do that from anywhere. He'd planned to work on his boat for a while. Nothing that can't wait, but why should he have to be the one to drive to the city? And for the Forge he'd have to get dressed up and there'd probably be photographers and, well, it's really a lot more energy than he's willing to spend on an evening with Lance. He wonders how many times he'll have to tell himself that before it'll start to sound convincing. 

"Yeah." Lance sighs softly. "Okay, yeah. I have meetings too, stuff going on here. But I was thinking, I just found out my 5 o'clock is cancelled. So if you want, I could, um. I could drive down there. If there's somewhere we could eat?" Lance pauses for a second. "I mean, if you wanted to." 

Down here? Nick's not sure what to say. Lance has only been out to Marathon once. Less than two hours, if Nick remembers correctly, before Lance pronounced it more boring than Clinton and dragged him back to South Beach in the middle of the night to go clubbing. 

Nick realizes he hasn't answered when Lance starts talking again. "Okay. Listen, Nick. I'm sorry to bother you. Obviously this isn't. Well. Maybe some other time will work out better." He doesn't even sound mad, to Nick. Just kind of wistful. 

"Yeah, there's places here. To eat. I mean, if you really wanna--" Nick squeezes his eyes shut. Jesus. Why'd he say that? Stupid, Carter. 

Lance jumps in eagerly. "Oh. Yeah. I do." He seems to rein himself in, and when he speaks again he's a little more subdued. "Where do you want to meet? Should I come by your place and pick you up?" 

"No." Keep _some_ control over the situation. "Let's, uh, let's meet at the Dockside Lounge. Around 8:30? Is that okay with you?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, that's good. Thanks, Nick." 

Nick's almost embarrassed by the gratitude he thinks he hears in Lance's voice. "So, do you need, like, directions?" 

"No, that's okay, I'll get someone to look it up. See you at 8:30, okay?" 

"See you." Nick hangs up and stares out the window at the sun hitting the water. Crazy. He's not stupid, he's crazy. 

***

_Nick knew there were some things he shouldn't tell his mom. Unfortunately, that didn't always keep him from talking._

_The first time he kissed a boy, when he liked it so much more than he'd ever liked kissing girls, he knew she wouldn't be happy. Still, it was something important about him, and he didn't want to hide it from her._

_He'd forgotten--again--just why he usually hid things from her._

_It was Brian who found him, after. When Nick heard the door open, he curled tighter into himself, crying helplessly._

_"It's okay, Frack," Brian whispered, hugging him tight._

*** 

Nick moors his boat at the Dockside right about 8:20. The place is a real Keys tradition--part marina, part tiki bar, part restaurant--and definitely not a joint where you expect to find pop stars hanging out. That's why he likes it. He waves at the bartender as he heads to a table in the corner of the already-emptying dining room. Another month or so and it'll be warm enough to eat outside, but tonight the action'll all be in the bar. Which is fine by Nick. Sometimes quiet is good. 

He's changed into jeans and a light sweater but he's still wearing his beat-up boat shoes. He orders a beer and sits back to wait. He figures Lance'll be on time, since he was so eager and all. He hopes he didn't make a big mistake, inviting Lance here. Lance was being nice on the phone and everything, but Nick can't count on that lasting. And he really likes this place. 

By 8:50 he's on his second beer, and he's starting to wonder if he's been stood up. If that's it, though, he's not gonna call and give Lance the satisfaction of laughing at him. 

He's about to ask for the check when Lance comes in, looking stressed. He spots Nick and threads his way between the tables to get to the corner where Nick's sitting. "God, I'm really sorry. I got lost on the way and I hated to call, I kept thinking I'd be here in a minute." He's standing at the edge of the table by the time he stops talking, and Nick stares up at him for a moment. He can't remember when he's seen Lance looking so good. Lean and buff, decent dye job. He's wearing jeans, with a gray hoodie over a white tee, and Nick feels like he's sixteen all over again for about a second and a half. 

Then he kicks himself mentally and makes himself stand up. "No, no problem, man, I'm good." He leans over the corner of the table to give Lance the ghost of a hug, hardly more than a bump of chest against chest and a palm on Lance's shoulder before he sits back down and reaches for his beer again. He takes a sip and then gestures across the table. "You want to sit down?" 

Lance glances around, and Nick waits for the sneer, the raised eyebrow. The snotty remark about how the Dockside isn't up to Lance's standards. But Lance just pulls out a chair and slides into it. "Thanks. You ready for another beer?" 

_No_ would probably be the smart answer. Or the sane one. Either way, he nods, and when the waiter appears a moment later Lance points at Nick's Dos Equis and says, "Two, please." 

Now it's Nick's eyebrow that goes up. "They do carry call brands," he says, after the waiter's told them about the catch of the day and headed over toward the bar. "Or did you get enough vodka in Russia?" 

Lance sighs. "I just thought I'd have what you were having," he says. "I'm sorry, did you want me to make a scene?" Lance sounds tired--no, more like weary, or resigned, and Nick thinks he should be gladder about that than he finds he is. 

He shrugs, swallowing down the _Sorry_ that's on his tongue. He settles for, "You always said Dos Equis tasted like piss," but he says it softly, and he pushes the menu toward Lance as if it's some kind of peace offering. "The fish is really good here," he says. 

Lance glances down at the list of entrees, a brief dip of his eyelashes, and then nods. "I'll trust you," he says, looking across the table at Nick like the words are supposed to mean something more than two orders of blackened yellowtail. 

Lance's uncharacteristic agreeableness is unsettling. It makes Nick's skin itch, but he can't exactly argue about it, so he just says, "Yeah, well, I eat here a lot," and kills his beer as the waiter arrives with the fresh ones. 

Once they've ordered, Lance raises his bottle. "To old friends... and new beginnings." Nick takes a measured sip, but doesn't reply. 

"So, how've you been?" Lance asks, after a moment's awkward silence. "I saw your tour's been getting good reviews, that's great." 

Lance sounds like he means it, but Nick can't help wondering about the inevitable comparisons with Justin. Everybody else has been making them, why not Lance? "Thanks," he says, telling himself it doesn't really matter what Lance thinks. _He_ knows how he feels about the tour. That's what's important. 

Except Lance's opinion has always mattered, probably more than his own. And that's the whole problem, isn't it? Nick looks down at his hands on the table and reminds himself why this feels so familiar. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. 

People change, though. Don't they? Can't they? He's changed. Though Howie would probably argue that where he's sitting right now is a pretty good indication that he hasn't changed as much as all that. 

Finally, Nick sighs. He doesn't look up when he speaks. "I know you didn't come down here to talk about my tour, Lance. So, what do you want from me? I'm..." Nick gestures, palms up, and glances over to find Lance watching him intently. "I'm different now." He has to keep saying it. Believing it. "I don't want what we had before. Not with you. Not with anyone." 

Lance wraps both hands around the base of his beer bottle and laces his fingers together. He leans a little forward when he answers, nodding. "I can see that. I mean, that you're different." _Good_ , Nick thinks. _At least someone thinks so_. "And I know, I don't want to go back, either. Like I said, I had a lot of time to think about stuff. Time to figure out things that I hadn't ever thought about before." 

Nick stares back, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from asking _Like what?_

But Lance doesn't wait to be asked. His eyes drop closed for a second, then he looks back up at Nick. "I thought a lot about the stupid things I did, you know, back then. Well, both of us, but..." He bites his lip and shakes his head. When he speaks again he sounds a little more urgent. "Nick. Like I said on the phone, I--I've missed you. And I've changed too. I really, I just want to have the chance to show you. I think we can be different with each other. Please." 

They're interrupted by the arrival of their salads, and Nick is glad to concentrate on eating for a few minutes. He wishes he could just leave, go out on the water alone and think about what Lance is saying. Is it even something he wants, to know that Lance is different? And how different could he really be? 

Lance doesn't seem to expect an answer, anyway, and in between bites he changes the subject entirely, telling Nick about his meetings in Miami. "I've been getting together with some people to talk about opportunities for development down the road. There's this concept we're considering, sort of a South Beach version of _The Amazing Race_." Lance spears a cherry tomato and grins up at Nick wryly. "It's not space, but it'll keep me busy this summer." 

Space. Nick's almost surprised Lance brought it up, and he can't help thinking how easy it would be to bust on Lance about it, an easy out from thinking about anything more complicated. Except space jokes aren't quite so funny these days, and besides, he's changed, right? He doesn't want to be like that, for them to treat each other like that. 

Which brings that whole "them" thing up again. For fuck's sake. 

He keeps his voice neutral. "So, yeah. What's happening with that, anyway? The space thing, I mean." He clears his throat, then adds, "I--everybody was rooting for you, y'know." It's not strictly true, but it seems like the thing to say. 

A smile flickers over Lance's face, and he sighs. "Right now it's kind of at a standstill. It won't be this year, obviously. I'm still hoping I could go later, maybe. But with the loss of _Columbia_..." His mouth tightens and Nick thinks, _That's real, he knew those guys, they weren't just names to him_. "I don't know," Lance continues. "Nobody really knows what's going to happen with the program now." 

It's hard to tell whether Lance really wants to talk about it or not. Still, Nick can't help being curious. "But you still want to go. Even after, you know?" 

Lance puts his fork down. "Yeah. I do. I know most people think I'm crazy, but I still do. More than ever." He shrugs. "It's so frustrating now, you know? I was so close last year. I thought--I thought for sure, eventually. I'd get the money straightened out, and it would happen. And now... I mean, yeah, pretty damn self-centered, to be feeling bad for myself when people _died_ , but I still do. I mean, I feel worse for their families. For the program, for all the important stuff that's on hold until _whenever_. But." 

It does sound self-centered. But it also sounds human, and Nick can't say he wouldn't feel the same, if it was something important to him that had been taken away. 

Lance looks out the window into the dark, and then their dinners arrive. Nick glances at Lance for confirmation as he orders two more beers. He's glad to get the food, and digs in. 

"This is really great." Lance grins at Nick a few minutes later over a forkful of fish. "Good call." 

Nick can't help but raise his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have thought this place was really your style, man." 

Lance rolls his eyes. "Living in Russia makes you appreciate the little things. Like food that you actually know what it is." 

"I guess," Nick says, laughing awkwardly. After a moment, Lance changes the subject to his recent trip to Thailand, then segues into the relative merits of golf courses around the world, nothing that comes close to raising Nick's hackles. 

Lance isn't monopolizing the conversation, either, Nick realizes, as he finishes an anecdote about racing that he realizes was probably interesting only to another Super Vee fan. 

He's enjoying himself. 

He's having dinner with Lance, laughing about things that happened when they were teenagers, and he's not drunk but he's feeling good, Lance's eyes are sparkling and his teeth are flashing when he grins, and it all feels so damn easy. 

Too easy. 

He knows this song, knows this dance. Knows how it ends, and he's not going there again. He's not. 

Lance is looking at him. Smiling, not saying anything. His eyes flicker down, to where his hand is lying loose next to a half-full bottle of Dos Equis, then up again, back to Nick's. Lance licks his lips, takes a breath. "Fuck, Nick, you look great," he says, with a little shake of his head. "Just--everything. You look _happy_." 

He _is_ happy. Was happy, anyway. Is he happy now? Sitting across from Lance, thinking about how Lance's hair would feel twisted in his fingers, remembering how Lance's mouth tastes? 

He was happy last week. Happy with who he was, what he was doing. Happy on the boat, happy hearing from the guys once in a while; happy with Jive talking about a second leg to his tour, still small venues, but more chances to get up on stage and sing his heart out. And now he's spent a good part of today thinking about Lance, and fuck, is everything he thought he'd built over the past year going to be gone in the morning? 

"I can't do this," he says. He gets up quickly, too quickly, and his thigh bumps the table, nearly sending his beer bottle to the floor. "I'm sorry. This was a mistake." He yanks his wallet out and throws some bills down, not looking at them. He had mostly twenties, he thinks; that should more than cover it. He's striding out the side door, out toward the marina, and he's a little buzzed, but he can handle the boat, he's done it before worse off than this. 

"Nick," he hears from behind him, but he keeps going, the long step down to the deck second nature, and then up to start the engine. It's going to take him a while to get out of the slip, though, and damn, he should've driven, he should've thought of this. "Nick," Lance says again, rushed footsteps coming to a halt on the dock. "What the fuck? What'd I--I didn't mean--what did I say? I thought we were having fun..." 

Nick lets his head fall forward, resigned now that any chance of an elegant escape has passed. "We were," he says. "I was. I--I don't know, Lance. Maybe I don't want to have fun with you. Is that possible?" 

He sounds stupid. He overreacted; he shouldn't have charged out of there. Made a scene. He does shit like this, and he always hates himself afterwards. Showing his ass, his dad calls it. But that isn't exactly helpful in terms of improving his mood. "Like I said before, it's too late. You can't call me up now and expect things to work. Life isn't like that." He moves over to loosen the bow line. Lance is right there, and Nick focuses on his feet rather than his face. White K-Swiss, new and unscuffed. 

"Why not?" There's an edge to Lance's voice, but it stays low, controlled. "Why should we--you know, Nick, not too many people know you like I do. And yeah, I fucked up, we both fucked up plenty of times, but that doesn't mean we can't be good together." 

_Shit._ Nick straightens up, then; tries to pin Lance with his eyes. "Together?" His laugh feels harsh in his own throat. "Dawg. There's no _we_. There's no _together_. We tried this for years. And now that I'm finally..." He shakes his head, starts again. "Now you walk in here and want, what? Me? _Us?_ No. I'm sayin' no." 

Lance steps back a little, frowning down at his shoes. Nick doesn't push out right away, but looks up at Lance a minute more, seeing how the dock lights catch the blond tips of his hair, the white of his tee, his shoes. Finally Lance raises his head and says, softly, barely loud enough to hear over the rumble of the engine, "I remember when you weren't so scared to take a chance, Nick. C'mon. Can't I get on the boat and we can talk some more--or whatever?" 

Now Nick does push away from the dock. He clambers back over to the wheel and tries to control his voice when he answers, "Jesus, Lance, is that what this is all about? Some kind of elaborate long-distance booty call? You come down here thinking you're gonna get lucky tonight? Fuck you, man. Go back in the bar and find some other sucker." His chest heaves as he steers away from the slip. As he turns he catches a last glimpse of Lance standing on the dock, a stunned look on his face. Shocked, not angry, and Nick wouldn't've expected that, not at all. 

He makes himself drive slow. Anger runs hot through his veins, and he's still hearing Lance's voice in his head, and he can't believe how pissed he is, but shit. Yeah, he remembers too. Of course he does. He remembers better than Lance, probably. At least, he's the only one who seems to remember all the bad stuff, not just the good. 

***

_Oktoberfest. If it were just them, Kevin would've bought Nick and AJ beer, but Lance and Justin were such babies he wouldn't. Nick kicked the pavement as Justin convinced AJ to ride the bumper cars. Lance'd refused flat-out. "They give me a headache."_

_**Figures** , Nick thought. **Pussy.** _

_Somehow, Nick and Lance ended up on the Ferris wheel. Lance pointed out constellations; Nick called him a dork._

_Later, Nick wasn't sure why he'd kissed Lance, high above the lights of Munich. But when Lance opened Nick's mouth with his tongue, hot and sugary sweet, it was a definite improvement over conversation._

*** 

Nick wakes up the next day with a throbbing head and a foggy memory. It's not like he drank so much at the restaurant. The six-pack he found in his fridge when he got home, that's a different story. 

He's pretty sure he made a fool of himself. The pure hot anger that was so clear when he got home last night has faded, and a lot of stuff is looking kind of fuzzy and confusing, now. 

Experience and slow movements get him from bed to the shower, with a stop for some Bufferin on the way. By the time the hot water runs out, his stomach still isn't happy, but at least his head's not throbbing so hard. 

He sits at his kitchen table with toast and a glass of V-8, and talks himself out of topping off the juice with vodka. 

Fuck. 

He doesn't remember exactly what he said last night, but he doesn't think Lance actually did anything obnoxious. _Nothing beyond existing, anyway._ Fuck. 

The obvious solution is not to talk to Lance anymore. He shouldn't have gone in the first place; it was a mistake. And if Lance thinks he's a dick, well, he won't be the first person in the world to think that, or, probably, the last. 

The only problem with that is, Nick keeps seeing Lance standing there on the dock, asking him to take a chance. Seeing him in the restaurant, laughing and at ease. Seeing him at seventeen, pale as milk on the surface, but indoors, in bed, wild and eager. 

_Not too many people know you like I do._ There's some truth to that, as much as Nick would like to deny it. But is it a truth worth giving up the peace he's worked for over the past year? The peace he's won, where every sentence doesn't have to be checked for bombs before proceeding? Where he can just be himself, and not spend every waking moment--and plenty of dream ones too--struggling, competing, with Lance or with Justin or with _whatever_? 

And then there's the other side of it. If he really has changed that much, does he want to be a guy who acts like he did last night, and then walks away? 

It's Lance. Treating Lance like that isn't like treating one of the fellas or his dad or anyone else like that. If they were keeping score, he's got so many credits in his account, this wouldn't even begin to make a dent in it. 

But thinking that way assumes he wants to be on the same level as Lance. The Lance he remembers, anyway. Arrogant, careless. Which, he thinks, kind of means he's lost the game before he starts. 

Three slow pieces of toast later, the juice glass in the dishwasher, he grits his teeth and walks into the living room. All last night's bottles are right-side-up, at least; no puddles on the carpet, and he allows himself another brief detour to rinse them so the whole place won't smell like beer. But then he gets his phone off the coffee table and thumbs through his recent numbers until he finds Lance's, hitting TALK before he can change his mind again. 

Lance picks up on the second ring. "Nick." He sounds--not angry. That's a good start, and more than Nick deserves. _Happy_ would probably be wishful thinking on his part, though. 

"Hey," Nick says. "Um. I--" 

"I was going to call you," Lance interrupts. "But I didn't know if you'd be up yet. So, um. About last night--" 

"Yeah," Nick says quickly. "No, I--I'm calling to apologize. I think--I overreacted. I'm sorry. You didn't, I shouldn't have walked out like that." 

There's a pause; Nick thinks he hears Lance huff softly. "Well. What you said last night, Nick, I wasn't--I mean, I wouldn't have said no," and Nick can see Lance's face, see the warmth in his eyes; he doesn't think he can ever remember a time when Lance wasn't fully enthusiastic about sex, "but it wasn't a booty call. Honestly. I don't want you to think that." 

Now it's Nick's turn to sigh. "I don't think that. Not really. I mean, I believe you. I just..." He closes his eyes, leaning his head back on the sofa cushion. "What _did_ you want?" He tries not to hold his breath, tries not to let the answer matter that much, or at all. 

Silence stretches out over the line for a few long seconds, long enough for Nick to begin to wonder if Lance is still there, and then he hears him clear his throat. "Honest? I just wanted to see you. You know, see if there was... if we could still. Connect. Whatever." He pauses a second, and then adds, "I really missed you. Like I said." 

_I miss you._ They never said stuff like that, much, back then. It pulls at Nick to hear Lance say it now. If he's honest with himself, he's missed Lance, too. It's not like you can just delete someone without feeling their absence, even if what you had was seriously fucked up. But he can't bring himself to say it, to tell Lance that. _It's okay to feel it,_ Nick reminds himself. _I don't have to tell him._ And Lance is still on the other end, waiting for something from Nick, a reply. Patient. "Okay," Nick finally says cautiously. "So is this, like. I mean, are you gonna want to...?" 

Nick knows he's not imagining now--Lance does sound pleased when he answers. Hopeful. "Well, I guess it's really up to you. I would, I mean, I'd like to see you again. I hope we could be, y'know, friends, or something..." 

Nick bites back an inappropriate laugh. Well. Friends would be new. 

"See, while I was in Russia, I spent a lot of time thinking about what was really important. And how lucky I'd been, having the people I--the people who mattered to me around all the time, to the point that I took it for granted." Nick figures that means that, faced with Freddy on a daily basis, Lance finally figured out what a dick the guy was. But Lance is still talking. "I don't know, there's no good way to say this. But what we had, okay, it was fucked up, we were young at the beginning, and probably really stupid. We both made mistakes." 

"Yeah," Nick says, because that much is true. They were kids when they started, and they'd been careless and maybe even cruel. They'd had fun, but they'd spent a lot of time sparring and competing, and even when things had been good, they'd said a lot of things they couldn't really live up to. Kids do that, Nick thinks. And like Lance says, it was both of them. He can remember making promises and then breaking them before Lance was even a time zone away. Though it really felt like Lance was running the show most of the time. It did. 

Lance isn't finished. "But see, I got to thinking, it's such a waste. God knows, it's hard enough to get to know people now, from where we are. And the good times _were_ good. If we could have that again, without all the rest of the shit..." 

Nick finds himself nodding, because even though he's spent the past year focusing on the bad, he knows Lance is right. Even if most of the good times involved sex, he's still right. Lance used to make him laugh, and what they had was more than just sex to Nick, even if he tried to convince himself it wasn't. 

Finally, Nick speaks. "So, this is, you think we can, like, be friends?" The word itself sounds strange in this context. "Without cutting each other down, or, y'know, wanting to kill each other?" 

Lance laughs, low in his throat. "Well. I'm hopin', you know?" Nick tries to ignore what Lance's laugh does to his heartbeat. "I do think, yeah, I hope, anyway, we could be good for each other. We've both changed, right? That's clear. So I figure, why not at least try. Give it a chance." 

A chance. _Take a chance._ Nick bites his lip. He's different from the boy of five years ago who'd do anything, try anything on a dare or a whim, no matter how dangerous, how stupid. But he still likes to gamble. The solo album, it was a gamble. Didn't exactly work out how he'd hoped, but he's proud of it anyway. Glad he got to tour. The racing team, another risk, and one that's turning out better than most people expected. Now this. Which could be more of a disaster than any of the rest of it... or not. Nick feels the spark catch inside him, and he doesn't even try to stop himself from saying, "Okay." 

He seems to catch Lance off guard. "Okay?" 

Nick smiles. "Yeah. Um. I mean, okay, we can try to be--friends. If you want that. I think, I mean, if we can do that? I'd like that. Too." 

Lance huffs out a breath. "Oh. Um." He laughs again, that sound that short-circuits Nick's brain. "Great," Lance says. "I guess--okay, now I feel like a real idiot, 'cause I didn't plan on what to do if you said yes." 

Now it's Nick's turn to laugh. Lance sounds so human. "Well, I could hang up on you instead, if you'd rather." 

"No!" Nick laughs again, and Lance makes a rude noise. "Jerk. Fine, laugh. Like you said, we've never really--we've probably done everything wrong that two people could do to each other, right? But it still feels weird, acting like we don't know each other." 

"Do we know each other?" Nick asks automatically. "Dude. I know what you like in bed. I know what you like to drink. Aside from that... I know you like Garth Brooks and want to go to space, but I could've learned that from J-14." So maybe he's exaggerating a little, but still. 

Lance is silent a moment. Then he sighs. "Is that really how you feel, Nick? I... I know we haven't been close in a while. And maybe the stuff we did, the silly stuff, back in Europe, maybe it's dumb that I remember it. But I do remember it. And, even with all the shit, I think we know each other a little better than you're sayin'. I mean, even if we weren't really trying to know each other very well most of the time. It's just _there_." 

Silly stuff. Nick does remember. Stupid joke presents, delivered haphazardly when the bands were in the same place or they could find someone to act as a courier. And he remembers phone calls late at night, once in a while, when one of them was too tired to deal with the day's shit and the other one was willing to listen. "Okay," he says. "But, y'know. We still don't know if we can be in the same room for more than an hour with our clothes on without fighting." 

A soft chuckle. "Okay, point." Lance sounds decisive again; that, at least, is familiar. "So, step one, work on that. I'm, um. I've gotta go back to LA on Monday, but if you've got some free time today or tomorrow..." 

"You'll pencil me in?" Nick can't help grinning. It's so ridiculous, really. But he knows, if he were still on tour, or racing, or whatever, his own schedule'd be equally tight. "Well. What did you have in mind?" 

"Maybe something with more distractions than dinner would be a good idea," Lance suggests. "I mean, to start with. You're not big on golf... right?" 

Nick laughs. "Right." He hesitates a second, then says the obvious. "I could take you out on the boat." 

It's a risk. It's something that matters to him, something _his_ , and if Lance fucks that up somehow... 

On the other hand, if Lance is too much of a prick, Nick can always toss him overboard. Lance may have buffed up, but Nick's still bigger. Plus, Nick thinks maybe it's his turn to make some kind of gesture. And Lance could always say no. 

"Okay," Lance says. "I haven't done much boatin' lately, but sure, yeah. That sounds great. You, um, when's good for you?" 

Nick hesitates only a second. His instinct is to say something unreasonable, tell Lance it has to be today, right now, if he can't be here in an hour the deal's off. He counts quickly to ten, mentally flipping off his therapist for being right so much of the time. "How about tomorrow?" he says. "If we get an early start, we can have a good day out and still not have you too wasted on Monday." Or they could fight before lunch and the whole thing could be history, but that probably doesn't need to be said. 

"Sounds good," Lance says. "What's 'early'? And do you want me to bring anything, maybe pick up some lunches on the way down?" 

Nick pictures the inside of his fridge. "Yeah, that'd be good. And for time, um, nine? Is that okay?" 

Lance is apparently ready to agree to anything, so Nick gives him directions to the marina. Finally Lance clears his throat and says, "Okay, Nick. See you in the morning. And, you know, thanks. It's really, I mean, I'm looking forward to tomorrow." 

"See you," Nick says, and the line goes dead. After he hangs up, he lets the phone fall to the sofa and rubs a hand over his face. He doesn't know what to do with this grateful, polite Lance. Not that he wants the old Lance back; it's just hard to believe, really, that this is for real. They took each other for granted for so long. 

He jumps when the phone rings, and he thinks for a second it might be Lance calling again, but the display tells him it's Howie. He bites his lip and lets it go to voicemail. Howie'll kick his ass when he finds out, but right now Nick thinks he needs to see how things go before he tells anyone. If he answers, he knows he'll spill everything within two minutes. And he already knows, too, what Howie'll say if he tells him he's meeting Lance the next day. 

*** 

_"But you don't even **like** him!" Howie's voice rose even higher than normal. _

_Nick shrugged, trying not to look embarrassed. He should've known Howie'd figure it out. What with the big old hickeys on his neck and all._

_Nick'd been pretty surprised Lance was that into it. He'd figured Lance for a virgin, for sure. But Lance'd told Nick he'd been with guys before, and after last night Nick was starting to believe him._

_Howie's voice pulled him back. "Nicky, seriously, why would you do that with someone you don't like?"_

_Nick shrugged again. "Dunno."_

_He didn't **not** like him._

*** 

Nick wakes early on Sunday, smiling as he stretches and yawns. The sun's pouring in the windows and he can't wait to get out on the water. 

He's been awake for about 30 seconds before he remembers Lance. Lance is coming. Probably. He might not make it, might call to say it's too early, he's changed his mind. Got a better offer last night. Nick tries not to play the scenarios out in his head, whether he'd be disappointed, relieved, angry. He showers, dresses. Grabs a bagel with some peanut butter and an apple and it's still barely eight. 

Well, the advantage to meeting at the marina is, it's okay if he's early; he can always prep the boat. 

He's double-checking the gauges and refusing to look at his watch again when he hears footsteps come to a stop nearby on the dock. "Hey," Lance calls over the engine, and Nick tells himself his heart's only pounding because he stood up too fast. 

"Hey," Nick says back, half-waving. "You get on by yourself, or you want a hand?" Lance shrugs, holding up a soft-sided cooler, and Nick nods and steps closer, reaching out across the short gap to take it. 

"You still like chicken salad?" Lance asks, stepping only a little awkwardly onto the deck. "I got roast beef, too. You get your choice." 

Nick can't imagine how Lance remembered what he likes and doesn't like. Actually, he'd've bet money that Lance never knew in the first place. Apparently he'd've been wrong. "Either's fine with me," he replies. "You can put that stuff below, out of the sun, if you want." 

His skin prickles a little at letting Lance nose around by himself, but it'd look stupid to follow him, so Nick unloops the mooring line and pushes away from the dock. 

When he goes to take the wheel, Lance is there again. A bottle of water in his hand, dressed in a T-shirt and swim shorts, those same sneakers squeaking slightly on the polished deck. He looks fuckin' perfect, and Nick takes a careful breath. 

"Thanks," Lance says. "I mean, thanks for..." He waves vaguely, then takes a step back, looking out across the water. "It's a gorgeous day. Where're we going?" 

_To hell in a bucket_ , Nick thinks, _but at least I'm enjoying the ride._ He shrugs. "You have anywhere specific you want to see?" he asks. "I don't really, it's not so much about the where, for me. I mean, y'know. It's all good." 

Lance laughs. "Sorry. You're right. I mean--I just wanted to see you, right? So let's go wherever, I don't care." One side of his mouth curls up, a self-mocking smile that shocks through Nick, reminding him more than any words could that yeah, there were good times too. "Chris says I have control issues," Lance says drily, and Nick can't help grinning. 

"Oh, there's a news flash," he says. "Is your phone handy? I should call Peter Jennings. Or maybe Carson Daly." 

Lance rolls his eyes. "Maybe knowing each other so well isn't such an advantage after all." 

Nick smirks as he moves the boat slowly away from the dock. "If the shoe fits, man..." 

Lance just grins back and flops into the seat beside Nick. A second later, Nick hears him rustling around and glances over to see him pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Dude, I was kidding," Nick laughs, and Lance looks up and colors a little. 

"I know, but you reminded me..." He thumbs the keypad a couple of times and flips the little phone closed, then pockets it again. Nick gives him a quizzical look. Lance smiles sheepishly and shrugs. "I don't want any interruptions." Then he slips his sunglasses on and looks away, out over the water, ignoring Nick's raised eyebrows. 

Nick knows it doesn't mean anything, so he's not thinking about Lance turning off his phone. He's not. Still, he can't remember Lance ever doing that before. More like pitching a hissy when he got out of range. Nick chuckles to himself, thinking, _Who are you and what have you done with Lance Bass?_ Well, he'll see how long that lasts. 

Nick concentrates on the boat as he steers south away from the marina. The engine sounds good, smooth and low, and the purr relaxes him as he picks up speed a little. The sun is high already and it looks like the day's going to be a beauty. He guesses he'll cruise out for a while and they can have lunch out on the water, or maybe put in somewhere and swim a little. 

He glances at Lance, who's turned to face forward now. "You want sunscreen? There's some in the pocket by your seat, there." Nick points, and Lance turns to look. "I put some on earlier, before you got here." 

"Guess I better, huh?" Lance burns pretty easily, even when he's already got a tan. 

"Remember that time you got so fried?" Nick grins down at Lance as he asks. 

Lance groans, smoothing the lotion down golden arms. His muscles flex in the sunlight. "God, how could I ever forget? I was in agony." Nick makes himself look away as Lance leans over to do his legs. "And besides that, Johnny wanted to kill me. I couldn't even tell him it was all your fault, you fucker." 

Nick barks a laugh as he pushes the boat up to speed. "My fault! Sure. I _made_ you fall asleep in the sun, right?" 

Lance takes off his sunglasses and balances them on his knee. He squints up at Nick with a grin. "Maybe if you hadn't worn me out first. Come on, you know you have to take some responsibility for _that_." He looks back down to squirt lotion on his fingers, then rubs it quickly onto his face. 

Nick ducks his head and hides a smile. "The way I remember it, man, you started it." He remembers the heat of an Italian summer day, a hotel without air conditioning. They'd had a picnic in the shady courtyard, bread and cheese and fruit from the local market, and then Lance had dragged him back to the room for two hours of sweaty, messy sex. Afterwards, they'd gone out to the beach more from necessity than anything else. The hotel water got cut off in the afternoons, so they couldn't take showers, and if they didn't wash off it was going to be painfully obvious what they'd been up to when the rest of the guys got back from sightseeing and shopping. 

Lance repositions his sunglasses and tilts his head back against the headrest, his eyes closed. The corners of his mouth turn up in a drowsy smile Nick hasn't seen for a long time. "Sure was fun, though, wasn't it?" 

Nick swallows hard. "You mean the second-degree sunburn?" God, Lance looks good, drinking up the sun like this. Nick focuses on the horizon. "Or the screaming fight we had over it the next day?" 

Lance sighs a little, lifting his head. "Okay, besides that stuff. Come on, Nick. We had fun, didn't we? Some of the time?" 

Lance's voice is soft, and Nick steadies himself against the note of sadness in it. "I don't know," he finally says. "Yeah. I guess." They must have, or it wouldn't have hurt so much. Right? 

It occurs to Nick that he's made it all too obvious how much Lance mattered to him in the past. Lance may sometimes be blind, but he's rarely stupid. Still, he isn't laughing. Nick sets his jaw and focuses on steering the boat, even though it's not like he really needs to concentrate out here in the open water. 

Lance is quiet, and Nick doesn't look over at him. Maybe he's fallen asleep in the sun. Whatever. They cruise for a while and eventually Nick relaxes, heading toward a tiny islet he's anchored by before. It's too small to be of any interest to most picnickers, which is fine by him, and he smiles as they approach and sure enough, there are no other boats anywhere to be seen. 

When the anchor's secure and he shuts the motor off, he's startled to realize Lance is wide awake, watching him. "What?" Nick asks automatically. 

Lance shakes his head. "Nothing. Can't I look at you?" 

Nick shrugs. 

"I don't think it's any secret that you turn me on," Lance says quietly. "I'm not trying to push things, but I'm not gonna pretend I don't want to look." 

Nick's gut reaction is to tell him to fuck off. Judging by how he looks in that shirt and shorts, Lance is rivaling Justin for fat-muscle ratio these days. Instead, Nick purses his lips and counts. He's up to eight, the second time, when Lance clears his throat. 

"I had a great time with you," he says. "Back--I mean, even with all the shit, it was still," he pauses, only a second, then says, "it was still the best relationship I've ever had. You meant more to me than anyone else did. That way, I mean." 

Nick blinks. Lance sounds completely sincere. Utterly serious, looking directly at Nick without a hint of irony. 

"Nick?" Lance finally says. "Is it--am I making an idiot of myself here? Say something; is it just me, am I remembering stuff that never really happened?" 

Nick thinks. Lance is wide open. If Nick wanted to trash him, he could do it, right now, slam dunk. But he knows that's not really what he wants. He finally shakes his head. "No. Or, I don't know. I mean, dawg, I'm not sure what to say. It's not, I mean, I believe you, but... if you felt that way, what--why were you so..." _So mean_ , he thinks, but somehow he doesn't want to say that, not with Lance sitting there looking at him like what comes out of Nick's mouth _matters_ to him. 

"So..." Lance glances away across the water, then meets Nick's eyes again. "Why did I cheat, do you mean? We both did it, you know. Not that that makes it right," he says, "but... We were both kids. We were apart most of the time. It was inevitable, really, wasn't it? That we'd fool around, with... whoever. Whoever was handy." 

Nick knows Lance is right. It's not like he hasn't thought the same thing himself. Still, there's something about hearing it from Lance that brings the anger back. 

Lance is looking up at him with somber eyes, like he knows what Nick's thinking, so Nick holds his tongue and turns away without speaking. But Lance isn't finished. 

"Nick. We both acted stupid sometimes." Nick bites the inside of his cheek. "I'm really so sorry," Lance continues. "But can we try to forgive each other? Or talk about it, or whatever you need us to do? Because I would really like--really--for us to be able to be friends. Or, you know. More. Without the problems we had before." 

Nick hears the undercurrent of frustration in Lance's voice, but there's something else there, too. An honest plea. 

He feels something inside him pulling him towards Lance, and that pisses him off, too. What the hell? They haven't seen each other in a year, and he _still_ wants Lance? After everything that happened? How can he still want it? The anger starts boiling up inside him and at first he tries to shove it down. It's not all Lance's fault, he knows that. He knows Karen would tell him to say what he's feeling, to express it in an appropriate way. But Jesus, can he really talk to Lance about this? 

"It's not just the cheating," he finally blurts out, staring out over the water. "I don't wanna, I don't think it's good to be so. Mean. You know, so mean to each other when we're together." He lets himself fall into a seat and grips the arm rests tightly to keep from making fists. "We were nasty to each other, Lance. Not all the time, but a lot." 

Lance colors a little and looks down. "I know. I wish... well. I wish a lot of things had been different." He smiles ruefully. "I thought a lot about it, last year, you know. Why we acted like that. I think, 'cause we were in competition so much of the time? I don't know if it was _unavoidable_ , but it was hard to, you know, be nice. It seemed... safer, I guess, to pretend it--us--wasn't really that important. Plus, I think naturally we're both pretty sarcastic." He pauses, then looks over at Nick and shrugs a little. "I don't know all the reasons. But you're right, it would have to be different now. And I think it could be." 

Nick picks at the hem of his swim trunks and frowns. Where does Lance get off, talking like he has all these answers, like he knows how it could be. Lance always thinks he knows _everything_. It just goes to show he's still the same obnoxious, superior fucker he's always... 

"Stop. _Just stop_." Nick doesn't even realize he's said it out loud until Lance's face clouds over, and even then he almost doesn't say anything else, doesn't try to fix it. But... "No, not you. Jesus. I must be going crazy. I'm talking to myself, and, fuck, Lance. It's not like we can just... it's not gonna be easy, you know. It's not." 

The words are out before he realizes it, and as soon as he says it he sees the flash of--relief? hope?--ghosting across Lance's features. "You're right," Lance replies. "It won't be easy." Then he grins, and says, "I like challenges, you know," and his voice isn't cocky when he says it, just warm. 

Nick forces himself not to look away, not to pretend he doesn't see the gratitude in Lance's smile. It's embarrassing, a little, but it's nice, too. New. 

But he can't take it for long. "Listen, man, you want to swim before lunch?" Nick motions at the water. "The water's shallow. It should be warm enough." 

Lance laughs at the abrupt change of topic. "Sure. Sounds like fun." 

Nick stands to strip off his T-shirt and catches Lance looking again, a half-grin quirking his lips. "Quit looking at me like that and get in the water, dork." 

Lance laughs. "Okay, okay." He pushes up out of the seat and steps closer to Nick. "And thanks, man." His voice softens. "I'm glad, okay? That you want to try this." 

Nick thinks for a second that Lance is going to touch him, but he just smiles up at him and then turns away, pulling his tee over his head and toeing off his sneakers. 

*** 

_They didn't see each other much. When they did, there were always fireworks._

_Backstreet was on a tour break, and Lance called. 'Nsync was in town to shoot a video, and could he stop by after they finished at Universal?_

_He didn't show up until after midnight. Nick started to complain, but Lance shut him up with a kiss. Shoving him back against the door, Lance snaked a hand down Nick's pants to stroke him roughly as he tongue-fucked Nick's mouth._

_Nick pushed Lance off and tried to catch his breath. "Maybe we could talk first?"_

_Lance frowned. "About what?"_

*** 

Nick can't help looking. The food may have been awful in Russia, and maybe Lance had to train harder than an Olympic athlete over there, but from Nick's point of view, it was all worth it. He dashes the water from his eyes right as Lance steps onto the swim platform and stands there for a moment, poised, before making an easy dive into the water. 

Nick flips over and swims off underwater, but it's too late. The glimpse he caught is burned on his brain. Swim trunks riding low on Lance's hips, muscles in his stomach tightening as he lifts to his toes to dive. The unexpected chiseled expanse of his chest, dusted with fine, silky hair that Nick's hardly ever seen before, what with all the waxing and primping they've both been subject to over the years. Lance raising his arms, muscles bunching smoothly under tanned skin. _Oh, fuck._

Nick swims out about fifteen yards from the boat and treads water; watches Lance from a distance. Lance swims up to the prow and around the other side, reappearing a minute later with the sun glinting off his shoulders. Now he shakes the water from his hair and lifts a hand to shade his eyes, looking for Nick, waving when he spots him. 

Nick swims back to the boat slowly, telling himself to take it easy, to swim up and make a comment about the sun, the water, anything. But it all flies out of his head when he sees Lance up close, with the sun in his face and water dripping off his chin. It's such a lethal combination that Nick isn't even surprised when he grabs Lance by the waist, pulling him forward into a rough kiss. 

The salt water makes Lance's mouth taste that much sweeter. Lance returns the kiss without hesitation, hands warm on Nick's waist, one leg wrapping around Nick's knees to hold their bodies together. Lance feels... perfect. Strong and solid. Familiar. Nick angles his head for a deeper kiss and gets a faceful of salt as, tangled together, they sink a little lower in the water. 

He sputters, pulling away. "Sorry," Lance says, reaching one hand out toward Nick's chest, not quite touching. 

Shit. Shit shit. 

This is all wrong. He wasn't going to do this, wasn't going to do the same damn thing one more time. 

Lance felt so good. 

Nick manages half a smile. He could let himself stop thinking. Lean back in and lose himself in Lance's mouth--though getting back on deck would probably make that safer. In some respects, anyway. 

What he wants to do right this instant is run away. But he knows, he _knows_ he won't want to _have done_ that, so he takes another breath, coughs a little. "Well, we know _that_ still works." 

"Was there ever a question?" Lance's smile is probably a little stronger than his, but there's some strain in it, too. 

Nick shrugs rather than answering. "We were gonna swim. Right?" Lance still looks like a wet dream come true, and Nick closes his eyes, hoping it looks like he's squinting against the glare. 

"Right," Lance says softly, and there's a fleeting touch on his arm, then a splash, and when he opens his eyes again Lance is safely underwater, out of sight. 

There are so many good things about swimming. Today the best thing is the way it wears him out. By the time they climb back aboard he's tired enough that lunch sounds like a better deal than Lance. At least if he doesn't look too close. 

Lance disappears down to the galley and reemerges with an armful of sandwiches, drinks, and chips. The food is spectacular; count on Lance to find the best deli in south Florida, but as Nick's stretching out on a towel a little while later, pleasantly stuffed, he can't really complain. 

"You want the last pickle?" Lance asks, and Nick shakes his head without opening his eyes. When he hears the crunch, though, he can picture Lance's white teeth, see his throat working as he swallows. Damn, Nick thinks. Howie is _so_ gonna kick his ass. 

Lance's voice works its way into his half-doze. "If you get sunburned, don't blame me." Nick raises a finger. Lance chuckles. "Hey, that's new ink, right? I'm just tryin' to be helpful." 

"It's not that new," Nick mumbles. Lance is probably right, Nick knows, but he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to deal with it. A little sun won't kill him. There's a brief rustle of movement, then silence. Nick slits one eye open to see Lance lying next to him, a few inches separating their hands. 

It feels too good. Too comfortable. He should get up, head back in, say something, do _something_. This is dangerous. 

_Take a chance_ , he thinks, and he can't tell if the clenching in his chest is a good sign or a bad one. He turns his face more fully to the sun and lets the heat take the place of his thoughts. 

*** 

_Lance never spent the night. He never made an excuse, just got dressed and got out the door. It made the whole thing feel kind of cheap, somehow, even though Nick had to admit you couldn't beat it for convenience._

_It was safer that way, really. If they talked much once they were done fucking, it was a crapshoot as to whether they'd cuddle and kiss, or wind up just this side of a fistfight. Still, Nick sometimes thought it might be nice to fall asleep together afterwards, instead of feeling the edge of the bed dip as Lance left._

*** 

He's not sure how long he slept. The sun's still high. But there's shade over his face, and when he opens his eyes all he can see is Lance, haloed in bright blue. There's a gentle touch on his jaw, soft fingers, and Lance blinks once but doesn't pull away when he realizes Nick's awake. "Sorry," Lance murmurs. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I just... couldn't resist." His voice is soft, low. Sincere. It would only take the slightest movement for Nick to raise his head, meet Lance's lips. "You're so gorgeous," Lance continues. "Fuck, I've missed you." 

Nick squints up at Lance and swallows, clears his dry throat. It looks to him like Lance has a patent on _gorgeous_ , but Nick's not gonna argue. Lance is still touching him, fingers slipping down Nick's neck to rest on his collarbone, burning hotter than the sun where they meet his skin. 

Nick still hasn't answered, and after a moment Lance asks, "I know I said I wouldn't push, but can I, do you want...?" 

Everything in Nick is screaming that he needs to think about this. But he's tired of thinking. He's tired of trying to protect himself, when Lance is right here in front of him, saying all the right things, and sounding like he really means them this time. 

_Oh, fuck it._ "Since when do you ask permission, Bass?" he mutters, looping a hand around Lance's neck to pull him closer. 

Lance's mouth meets his, gentle at first but turning hungry almost immediately. Lance's hot tongue slicks over his lips and inside, and Nick groans and lets him in. 

The world is burning up around him and Nick doesn't care. It's not just the sun beating down on his skin or the heat of the deck beneath his back; it's Lance's hands on his chest and his hot, hot mouth on Nick's, doing things that Nick thought he'd forgotten about but that his body definitely remembers. It's the heat radiating off Lance, even hotter as Lance rolls over the rest of the way and ends up half on top of Nick, running his hands up Nick's arms to hang on as they kiss and kiss. There'd better not be anybody nearby or they're both screwed, but Nick's pretty sure he'd have heard another boat, even in his sleep. 

After a minute Lance shifts to nibble along Nick's jaw and lick down his throat, and Nick lies there with his eyes shut, a human sacrifice spread out for Lance on the gently rolling deck. He thinks for a second he hears Lance whispering against his skin, but he can't make out the words and honestly he doesn't care, so he closes his hands over Lance's shoulders and _feels_ , feels everything, and doesn't think about it at all. 

Lance is taking his time learning Nick's face again with his mouth, licking and biting Nick's neck and chin, pressing gentle kisses below his ears, breathing hot over his closed eyelids. When Lance finally comes back to his lips, Nick welcomes him the best way he knows how, and the kiss is deep and sweet, but salty too, with the taste of Nick's skin on Lance's tongue. 

Lance is hard against Nick's hip, rocking there what seems like unconsciously. Nick shifts over a little, meeting Lance's motions with his own, matching them with his tongue. Lance groans, hands tightening on Nick's skin, thumbs slipping over his ribs. So good. So good. 

Lance is panting when he finally licks his way out of the kiss, and Nick knows, his body knows what's coming next; wants it, craves it and if he's gonna be fucked in the head anyway he might as well get it the right way first, so he arches up, letting his legs fall a little further open. Admitting to both of them what he wants. Counting on Lance to have brought supplies--he may have changed, but not _that_ much. 

"God, Nick." Lance's voice is shaky. Nick notices that even through the haze of lust, and can't help feeling a little surprised. But then Lance slides down, licking at Nick's chest while his hands rest a second at Nick's waistband before moving to untie the drawstring of his trunks. 

Yes. Yes, he wants this. It _is_ worth something, being with someone who knows him, knows his body. Knows what he likes, and Lance is a bitch of a tease sometimes, but Nick likes that, too, so it all works out. He lifts his hips and helps Lance slide his shorts off, then settles back on the towel. 

He's not all that startled when Lance keeps licking, tracing the crease of his thigh, nuzzling his balls, then taking him in his mouth. Lance loves to suck cock, and loves being in control, so Nick just closes his eyes and tries not to whimper too loudly. He knows he's not going to get to come until Lance is buried inside him--not without a fight, anyway--so he might as well relax and enjoy the buildup. He likes to think he's gotten a little better, at least, at delayed gratification, and if he can manage not to beg aloud, that'll be a victory of sorts. 

It's like being drunk. The best possible drunk, dizzy and floating, the boat rocking under him and Lance's mouth making him shudder, Lance's fingers teasing at his skin, stroking his thighs and behind his balls. Nick raises his knees, offering himself, his head spinning with the sensations. 

It builds so smoothly, so inevitably, that he doesn't realize what's happening-- _What is wrong with this picture?_ \--until he blinks back to reality, sprawled boneless on the deck, with Lance's head resting on his stomach, one hand curled almost protectively over Nick's softening cock. 

Nick waits a few seconds. Maybe he _is_ drunk. Or high. But no, Lance just... He raises his head. "Lance?" 

"Mmm?" Lance turns, looking up at him. His lips look used, and Nick reaches out, hesitating only a second before touching his fingertips gently to Lance's skin. 

"You. Um. You didn't..." 

Lance tilts his head, rubbing his cheek against Nick's fingers. "Yeah. Well." He smiles. "You seemed to be enjoying it." 

Nick huffs out a laugh. If he'd enjoyed it any more, he'd probably have passed out. "Didn't you want..." He's not sure how to finish the sentence, so he slides down a little, just far enough so he can palm Lance's erection through damp fabric. Nick grins when Lance's eyes fall shut and his hips answer the touch. 

"'m not stupid," Lance murmurs, pressing his dick rhythmically into Nick's hand, a little moan catching in his throat on every breath. "Of course I want. Just..." his eyelashes flutter slightly, but his eyes stay closed, "wanted to take care of you first." 

Nick blinks for a second, taken aback. Lance _has_ gotten him off first, before, but it was always a power thing. That's not what this feels like, though, not at all. And Nick doesn't really know what to think about that, so he licks his lips and says, "Do you have, um. Stuff?" 

Lance stills for a second and then surges up Nick's body a few more inches, opening his eyes to look down into Nick's face, his cock still jumping under Nick's fingers. "Yeah. Let me, oh, fuck. Let me get it." He gives Nick a hard kiss, then pushes himself to his feet and heads down to the cockpit. 

Nick sits up so he can look around. Not a boat in sight, so that's good. When Lance reappears a few seconds later, Nick falls back on his elbows to look up at him, shining like some bronze sun god, but with green shorts tented out obscenely in the front. Nick's stomach does a flip and it's all he can do to keep from getting on his hands and knees right then. 

"Here. Sit up a second." Lance leans over Nick and slides a second towel underneath his back, readjusting the other one lower. "Is there such a thing as boat burn?" Nick laughs and pulls him back down. 

Lance lands on top of him and they tangle, shifting until their legs are laced together. Lance's eyes drop closed as he grinds down once, and his desperate groan shoots right to Nick's balls. Nick reaches under Lance to fumble with his swim trunks and push them down, and a few seconds later there's hot, sweaty skin against his dick, and Lance is moaning in his ear and humping his hip. 

Nick runs his hands down the smooth curve of Lance's back to stroke his ass, turning his head at the same time, catching Lance's open mouth in a kiss. When Lance sucks Nick's tongue into his mouth Nick feels like the boat is melting away under him and he's falling, and he finally gives it up and spreads his legs apart, catching Lance between his thighs. 

It's dick on dick now, the best feeling in the world--one of 'em, anyway--and Nick is so ready that he doesn't wait for Lance to set the pace anymore. "C'mon," he pants, grabbing for Lance's hands, looking for the condom. "Give it." 

Lance does, and then lifts up just enough for Nick to roll the rubber on. Lance jumps when Nick's fingers touch him. "Jesus," he breathes. "Not gonna last..." Nick looks up and sees Lance's eyes shut tight, lip caught between his teeth. Lance looks hungry. Needful. Nick feels pretty much the same. 

"C'mon then," he says, patting the deck next to him in search of the lube Lance dropped there. "You gonna make me do everything?" 

Lance's eyes come open, dark with arousal. "Fuck." He grabs the bottle from Nick's hand and Nick grins, tilting his hips up. 

This is new. Not Lance prepping him; Lance may be a jerk, and Nick may be self-destructive, but there are limits. No, what's new is being aware of Lance doing it. Being able to think of anything more than--well, of anything that qualifies as _thinking_ at all. 

It surprises Nick how careful Lance is. Has he always been this gentle? Nick hears himself whimper when Lance strokes his skin, teasing circles before sliding slickly inside. "Yeah," he sighs, rocking on Lance's finger, his legs spreading wider. 

Lance smiles, adding a second finger and twisting as Nick arches up in response. "So sexy," he murmurs. "God, Nick." 

Lance's fingers are sparking lightning up Nick's spine. "'sgood," he says. "Go for it." He can feel the tension in Lance's body, and he's ready, he's more than ready. 

"Yeah?" Lance presses in again, and Nick nods. It's a little weird, really. This new Lance, this new kind of sex-- _Improved! Now, complete with dialogue!_ runs through his mind, and he laughs, giddy with pleasure. 

Lance is pulling his fingers out, though, and now the head of his cock is nudging at Nick's entrance, his hands under Nick's knees, and God, yeah, Lance isn't the only one who's missed this. Nick moans, clutching terrycloth in his fists, as Lance leans up and in. 

He's taking this slow, too--so slow Nick almost wants to howl with frustration, except it's good, the pleasure lapping at him gently instead of overwhelming him, a promise of what's to come. Lance rocks into him, inch by inch, and Nick's burning again, or melting, maybe. Whatever. It feels good, that's for damn sure. 

Lance stops when he's fully in, and Nick blinks up at him, blinded for a second by the bright sunshine. "Okay?" Lance asks, and Nick nods. _Okay_ doesn't really cover it, but Lance is moving again, and that's what's important. 

Lance moves like oil on water, hips starting slow and building, a rhythm that's inevitable, that Nick knows will have him gasping in no time. This is one thing Lance was never awkward at, and he's only gotten better. "Yeah," Nick pants, "fuck... so good." 

"Good--yeah. Fuckin'--great." Lance moans the words between thrusts, and his voice sounds half-broken, and there's sweat running down his face. And Nick can't help but laugh again, a high giggle that hitches as Lance slides into him, because it is, it really is great. Fuckin' great. 

Lance eases a hand out from behind Nick's knee and reaches for his dick, which is hard again, completely hard, and why wouldn't it be? Nick closes his eyes and lets his head roll to the side, settles his thighs up around Lance's waist and holds on as tight as he can, fingers still clenched in the towel beneath him. God. God. The sun's beating down and everything's hot, burning, and Lance is in him to the hilt, again and again, moving smooth like silk, or cream, or-- _fuck_ \--something really smooth. 

He doesn't even realize Lance is still talking until he hears, "Gorgeous, fuck. You. God--never thought I'd get to..." And Nick opens his eyes again then, squints up at Lance, at the blazing hotness of Lance that rivals the sun, and tries to make himself believe that this is really happening. On the boat, with Lance, the water sparkling all around and the sun pouring down, and Lance pounding into him, and it all seems more than a little surreal. 

"Missed--this, ohhh." Lance is running his mouth, although he's not making much sense, and his strokes on Nick's dick are getting erratic, while his thrusts are getting faster. "I--oh, shit--please..." 

"Yeah, yeah," Nick hears, and it's him, and he's reaching up, grabbing for Lance's shoulders, pulling him forward, down, so they're face-to-face. "C'mon then, do it, give it to me," and Lance doesn't need any more encouragement than that, but it doesn't stop Nick from whispering "Harder, _harder_ " in his ear. 

Lance loses it then, bracing himself on the deck with his hands on either side of Nick like he's doing pushups, muscles popping in his arms, and it's so sexy that Nick hardly even misses the hand on his dick. Before Nick knows it, Lance is bucking, out of control, growling and panting against Nick's neck, biting a little, and God, it feels so fucking _good_. 

Nick strains up against him, wide open, hooking his ankles together on Lance's ass, looping his hands around the back of Lance's neck. He's not surprised, just grateful, when he feels his own body start to twitch and shake, and he's coming again, sticky hot fluid on his belly and chest as Lance is groaning and quivering, coming apart above him. Inside him. 

*** 

_It wasn't terrible. There was a kind of comfort in being known so well. But then there was always the other side of it, too._

_"Please, Lance," Nick begged. He'd been on the edge for an hour. He was literally aching to come._

_"Shut up, you'll wake Justin," Lance growled, glancing at the door to the adjoining room. "Do you want him to hear how I make you beg?" He went back to slowly licking Nick's cock. He knew exactly what Nick could take before he came._

_Nick just needed to get off. He almost didn't care about Justin. Almost._

*** 

"Mmm." Lance licks up Nick's neck to right below his ear, and Nick shivers. 

Nick can hardly breathe, what with the heat and weight of Lance pinning him down, not to mention the mindblowing orgasm he's still recovering from. He's not complaining, though. He wraps his arms and legs tighter around Lance. 

"Mmmm..." Lance hums again, and presses his lips to Nick's shoulder, murmuring actual words now, but all Nick hears is "...bastard." 

It takes a second to process the word, and then he has to get his body to respond, but he manages to push against Lance's shoulders enough to look into his face. "What?" Nick struggles to get out from under him. "Fucking... what did you say?" His heart's pounding, and shit, he knew he was expecting too much, but still, it _hurts_. 

Lance holds him tighter for a second, but when Nick pushes harder he lets go and starts to sit up. Nick scoots away from him, wincing a little when he lands hard on his ass. He stares at Lance and pulls one of the towels into his lap. "What the fuck?" 

"What? I said I was a lucky bastard." Lance sounds confused and a little pissed. He puts a hand out toward Nick's shoulder, but doesn't reach all the way across the gap between them. "What's your problem?" 

Shit, shit. Nick swallows, feels his skin prickle with cold, even though the sun's still high overhead. Shit. Maybe he's sunburned. 

Maybe he's just acted like an ass. Again. 

He clears his throat. "Sorry." It sounds more like "fuck you," and he knows it, but he doesn't say anything more, just looks away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Lance's hand flex slightly, then fall to the deck, and Lance sits up, one knee coming up slightly to shield his cock--condom still clinging wetly in place, _that_ must feel charming, but Lance ignores it. 

"I don't understand," Lance says, more quietly now. "I thought." Nick can hear him sigh before continuing. "Maybe this was a mistake. I didn't think so, but maybe." 

Oh, it was a mistake all right. That's more than obvious from the way Nick's heart's still pounding. The way half of him wants to jump overboard, and the other half wants to crawl into Lance's arms and beg. Not even for forgiveness, maybe. Just _beg._

"No. I mean. I misunderstood," he says, forcing the words out one by one. "What you said, I thought. I thought you were callin' me..." 

"You thought I was calling..." Nick turns to face him, and he can see when Lance figures it out, see the brief flicker of hurt and anger. "Oh." Then Lance's shoulders slump, not a lot, but Nick's watching now. "Maybe this was a mistake," he repeats dully. "I'm sorry. I thought you--I thought we--" 

Nick bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. "No," he says. "I'm sorry." Sincerely now. He is. "It was... I." He takes a breath. "I didn't know how to deal with you. Don't know. You're so... different. And I keep expecting. The same." He's afraid he's not making much sense, but he's trying. Lance is trying; he can at least do as much. 

_What's the worst that could happen?_ he hears Karen ask, her voice soft in his head. 

_He could laugh at me. He always used to laugh at me._

_And what would that do?_

_Hurt my feelings. Prove he's a dick._

She nods. _And if he doesn't laugh? Then what?_

_Then... maybe I can trust him?_

Somehow that seems scarier than being laughed at. 

After a moment's tight-lipped stillness, Lance nods. He looks down and makes a face, stripping the condom off and knotting it efficiently, then wiping his hands on the second towel. "I guess I can't blame you," he says. "I thought, y'know. That things could be different. I meant to treat you, today, like you deserve to be treated. I thought I was--" 

Nick shakes his head. "You were. You were, it was. Great. Fuck..." It feels wrong, it feels like he's being a total tool, but Lance is sitting a foot away looking like he's going to implode from holding himself so tight. Nick reaches out, slides his fingers so they barely brush Lance's. "It was great," he repeats. "I just... I don't really know what to do with great." 

Lance doesn't answer right away, but he doesn't pull his hand back either. He stares out over the water for a minute, then looks down at the place where Nick's fingers are touching his. He sighs once more. "I guess maybe I'm expecting too much. To think we could get past, y'know, _the past_." 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--" Nick begins, but Lance cuts him off. 

"No. I know you didn't. But it's still there, isn't it?" he waves his other hand vaguely. "I hoped we could really, like, start over, but maybe I was bein' stupid." He laughs, and it sounds hollow. 

Nick bites his lip. The easiest thing to do would be to agree. Chalk it up to experience, call it a day and at least leave things on better terms than they were before Lance called. That might be the smartest thing, too. Still, there's something about that option that feels wrong to Nick. Like, not cheating, exactly, but... not doing his best. 

"It's not _that_ stupid," Nick finally says. Lance's hand is still next to his, and Nick reaches over and pats it awkwardly. It's almost funny, the two of them sitting there naked, still sweaty from fucking, and this small gesture of comfort feels more intimate to him than any of it. 

Lance blinks a couple of times, like he's surprised. "Nick?" The questions are there, even if he doesn't ask them. Nick stills his hand and leaves it on top of Lance's. 

"I don't know, Lance. I mean, it's not gonna be easy." Nick has to be honest about that. "I know part of this is me, I've gotta..." He's got to trust. But he can't quite say it, so he keeps going, hoping he _can_ say _something_ useful. He looks down at their hands on the deck, his covering Lance's, and he tells himself he just has to try the best he can. "But today's been--really good." He takes a breath. "And--I did miss you. For more than the sex." There, he thinks. That's something that was hard to say, but he got it out. 

Lance turns his hand over so their palms are together, and curls his fingers up between Nick's. "I really missed you." His voice is quiet but it sounds so heartfelt, Nick can't help but nod. "And Nick. I know I said it before, but I'm so sorry about, you know. I mean, last spring. Justin." 

Nick draws a sharp breath and pulls his hand away. Shit. Maybe he should've expected, but... he's not ready for this part. Like, really not ready. He closes his eyes for a second and counts. Okay. Okay. It's not anything new. He should be able to do this. He's had a year to get used to it, after all. 

When he looks at Lance again, Lance is biting his lip. Staring down at his hand, palm up, empty. Nick can't see his eyes. 

Nick inhales slowly, lets it out. " _Why_ are you sorry?" He forces his shoulders to relax, makes himself wait, makes himself listen to Lance's answer. 

Lance clears his throat. "Huh. Okay. I'm sorry..." Lance looks serious, like he's taking this seriously. Well, good. Scary, again, but good. "I'm sorry for, y'know, hurting you. And that you had to find out like that." 

Nick opens his mouth, but Lance shakes his head, continuing. "But I guess, what I'm really sorry about is that it wasn't important. Justin, I mean. It was just--he was a little drunk, and I was too, and I thought, hey, seize the day, right?" 

So it wasn't a big _thing_. Just a hookup... with really bad timing. Nick thinks maybe that should make it worse. Or better. Or something. 

Lance is still talking. "So I guess what makes me feel the most--the worst--is that I didn't. Um. Value you enough. You were, we were, sorta always there, you know, and I think because of that I never really thought about how much that meant. What it would be like if--when--you weren't." 

"You never had to worry, because I'd always come running back." The words taste sour, but he can't really blame Lance for thinking it. It was true. 

Lance frowns. "I guess you could look at it that way. Y'know, we both fooled around. It's not like it was just me." 

And that's true too. Really, Nick's not even sure why seeing Justin there tore things for him the way it did. Well, okay, it was hella embarrassing, but it was more than that. Maybe just... because it was _Justin_. The grand prize. 

Maybe because he didn't want to think about how he'd measure up. What new gibes Lance would have for him after that. So instead he ran away. 

"I'm all gross," he says. They both are, but him worse than Lance. His chest is itchy with drying spunk and sweat. "Let's rinse off before it cools down too much out there." There's enough water on board to wash with, but he needs to move, and he knows swimming will calm him. It always does. 

Lance looks like maybe he's going to argue, but then he nods. "Okay." He peels himself off the deck and offers a hand to help Nick up, which Nick takes with only a slight hesitation. "I hope we can talk more later." Lance's voice is soft, and Nick gives him a quick, tight nod, then dives in quickly, letting the water close over his head and shut both their voices away. 

*** 

_After Europe, he only saw Lance when their schedules overlapped, in Florida or when their tours crossed paths. And they talked on the phone, sometimes. Mostly phone sex, followed by arguing._

_By then they'd pretty much stopped trying for romance. It saved a lot of time if they just skipped the pillow talk and promises. That stuff never lasted long, anyhow._

_They got along best that way._ _Sometimes one of them would start dating somebody, officially or not, and they wouldn't see each other for a while._

_They never really had to break up first, because they weren't really together._

*** 

Sunday night, and Nick's nursing a mild case of sunburn and a slightly more severe case of confusion. He and Lance parted ways at the marina around four with nothing more than a brief hug and a promise from Lance to call again soon. Nick stopped at the grocery on the way home. He knew he could go up to his mom's for dinner, but he's had enough tension for one day. Though it did make him laugh darkly to realize that at this point he could probably deal with her better than he did with Lance. 

The day still feels surreal to him, and now that Lance is gone, he could almost think it hadn't happened, if it weren't for his sore muscles and the undeniable sense of unease about the stuff they discussed. He still can't believe Lance said the things he did. If it was really the best relationship he'd had, he sure waited long enough to say so. But Nick knows, too, that if Lance had said anything back then, Nick probably would've laughed at him. That was just how they were. 

Nick's other relationships weren't much better, of course. Not that he's had that many, and he always ended up right back with Lance, after, which maybe should've told him something. He loves Howie, and always will, but they're definitely better as friends. Mandy lasted longer, but she had even more issues than Nick, and when it finally ended, bad as that was, in a lot of ways it was a relief. And afterwards, after those failures, Lance was always there. 

Nick's come a long way in the last year. He doesn't need his therapist to tell him that. Still, spending a whole day with Lance after all this time apart makes him feel weird. Even now, hours after they said goodbye, his mood is shifting by the minute between accomplishment and shame--he didn't get into a real fight with Lance all day, which may be an all-time record, but he didn't mean to get fucked, either. He can't say he's surprised it happened, but he really didn't mean for it to. 

It was better after they swam again, at least. The waves were pretty quiet but there was a current, and Nick put everything out of his head and let the exertion wear him out again. Climbing back up onto the boat, he felt calmer. Lance pulled himself up the ladder a minute later, naked and glistening in the afternoon sun. Nick tried not to watch him dry off and pull his trunks on, but he doesn't think he did all that great. 

Coming back in wasn't so bad. He skipped the scenic route and headed straight back to Marathon, and it was almost relaxed between them. As relaxed as he could ever remember it being, anyway. It wasn't a bad day, Nick thinks reflectively. Just kinda confusing. 

After starting a load of laundry and setting a steak out to marinate for dinner, he can't put it off any longer. He's got to call Howie. 

Howie's one of the most perceptive people Nick's ever known, and he always manages to ask the annoying questions Nick doesn't want to ask himself. It doesn't help that Howie's been learning Nick's moods for over ten years now, and the months they spent sleeping together gave him even more of an edge. Nick loves him like crazy, but he's not looking forward to this call. 

Still, three voicemails in the last two days, and Nick knows if he doesn't get in touch soon, Howie's gonna be knocking on his door at some obscene hour of the morning. 

"Hey, Nick. I was about to send out a search party." Howie sounds happy to hear from him, not really upset, and Nick's relieved. It's not like they talk every day anymore, but sometimes Howie worries when he shouldn't. 

Of course, sometimes he worries when he should, too. 

"Nah, I'm here, dawg, what's up?" Nick takes a long swallow of water, keeping his voice light. It's a long shot, but sometimes there's some lupus thing going on, or something else that can distract Howie from the usual third degree. 

"Oh, the usual," Howie says. "Been getting around, taking care of business. Pollyanna's got some gigs coming up." 

"Cool," Nick says, thinking about what Aaron's up to, or something else he could offer that won't bring the conversation around to him, but no such luck. 

"I thought I'd hear more from you, now that you're off for a bit," Howie's saying. "Somehow you managed to return my calls--usually at 3 AM, I might add--when you were touring, but here you are at home and suddenly I'm talking to a machine all the time." 

Nick bites his lip. "Sorry about that. Calling too late, I mean. You know how it is when you're on the road." Howie laughs, and Nick figures he should be grateful for that, even if a detour into defending his drinking habits might actually be easier than the conversation he knows they're going to end up having. "Well, y'know, I've been relaxing," he tries, not quite ready to give up yet. "Just wanted some down time, not really doing much of anything, spending a lot of time on the boat..." 

Another soft laugh. "Nick." Nick can see Howie's face, that damn I-know-everything smile. "You can keep going, but I've got all night, man. And I know the more you beat around the bush, the more you've got that you think you don't want me to know about." 

Nick squeezes his eyes shut. He does know that. And really, he should give up now, while Howie still sounds relaxed, before the gentle teasing turns into worry or irritation. "Why are you such a pest?" he finally sighs. "Can't a guy have a few days off without it being a federal case?" He tries to keep the whine out of his voice, but, damn. 

Silence for a moment, and again, Nick can picture Howie, lips pursed, trying to decide whether to be insulted or not. 

"Sorry," Nick murmurs before Howie speaks. "I know you're just bein' a friend. I'm just. You know." 

"No, I don't know," Howie drawls, "but if you'd spit it out, I would, and then we could both relax." 

Nick wishes he could believe that. But he might as well go for it, hope for the best. "I'm seeing someone," he says, then blinks, because is he? Is that how he's thinking about it? And if he is, maybe Howie should be pissed; maybe he should want Howie to be pissed. 

Maybe he's just fucked up. Again. 

"Go on," Howie says. "I mean, that's cool, right? Anyone I know? You happy?" 

Nick coughs. "Yeah, I mean, it's not. Nothing serious." Shit. He's doing this all wrong. 

"Nick..." There's a question there. Well, Nick's got a few questions of his own. 

"It's Lance," he blurts out. Then closes his eyes and takes a breath, trying to slow his heart. "It's, he called me, um, last week and I--I told him to get lost, but..." 

"But..." Howie's voice is even. Measured. 

"But, he wouldn't." He's not ready to explain this. He doesn't understand it himself. "He's... he's different, D. He drove down here from Miami to have dinner with me, and he was... nice." 

Howie's quiet for a minute. "Okay," he finally says. The "...and?" is unspoken. 

Nick sighs. But if he can't talk to Howie, who can he talk to? "Well... I kinda freaked out. I took off, I was really kind of... an ass. But he didn't get mad, he--he's changed, I don't understand it, but he's really different." 

There's another long pause. "Nice, huh?" Howie sighs. "That _would_ be different." 

"What? You think. You think I'm..." Nick feels himself going on the defense. 

"Come on, Nick, you know it's true. The way he acted before could hardly be described as _nice_." 

Nick stares at the ceiling a moment, wondering whether it's a good sign or a bad sign that he's almost ready to tell Howie he's wrong. But that's not important anyway. "Well, I dunno," he finally says. "But dude, he's not being... like he used to be. He's kinda. Yeah, nice." 

Howie's silent, and Nick finds himself adding, "We, um. Fucked. Too. Today." He braces himself. 

"Uh-huh..." Howie's tone says more than most people could say in a whole sentence. Nick can practically see the eyebrow arching. 

Nick draws another deep breath. "I don't know. It seems different, D. I took him out on my boat, and... well." 

"Okay, okay. I don't need the details," Howie teases, and Nick relaxes a little. But it's back to serious when he continues. "Different how?" 

Nick laughs weakly. How's he supposed to say how it's different without giving details? 

"I don't know. He was... nicer. More, um. Considerate, I guess?" Now he's making it sound like Lance usually isn't good in bed, and that was never true. "He was, it was like we were on a date or something. I can't describe it, D, but it was different. And I'm kinda confused, and. Like, what does he--and is he gonna--Jesus. Why do I have to be such a girl?" Nick shoves a hand through his hair. It needs to be cut. 

"Because you are?" Howie snickers. 

"Fuck you," Nick replies, although there's no venom in it. He sighs, and a moment later continues, "I just, I guess I don't really get what he wants." 

"Sounds like he wants _you_." 

"That never seemed to be good enough before." 

"Maybe he's gotten smarter," Howie says. "It's possible." 

Nick frowns down at his knee. "Maybe," he says softly. 

"So," Howie continues, "the important question is, do you want him? You willing to... well, find out the hard way, I guess?" 

That's the question, isn't it? And damn if Nick knows the answer. He rubs a hand over his face. "Y'know, I was kinda counting on you to yell at me or something. You know, tell me not to--whatever?" 

Nick's always liked Howie's laugh. Which is a good thing, since he hears it often enough. "Is that what you called me for? To give you a curfew?" 

"Maybe," Nick says, laughing at himself a little. "Isn't that what best friends are for? To stop you doing stupid shit when you start to do it all over again for the millionth time?" 

"Do you think this is stupid?" Howie asks. "Because, sure, I'll come down there and kick your ass if that's what you need." 

Nick smiles. "I wish I knew, dawg. I wish I knew." 

"So do I, Nick." Howie sighs. "But, you know, I think... maybe Lance has changed and maybe he hasn't. I hope for your sake - and, hell, for his--that he has. But what I do know for sure is that _you've_ changed. And okay, this thing worries me, and I'm afraid you're gonna get hurt. You know I hate seeing you hurt, man. But I also know it's your call. And that you can handle whatever happens next." 

Nick feels a prickle behind his eyes. _Fuckin' Howie._ He draws in a shaky breath before he answers. "When the hell did you get so smart?" 

Howie laughs. "I've always been the smart one." 

*** 

_Howie was about as different from Lance as anyone could be. Dark where Lance was light, sweet where Lance was sharp. Loving. Trustworthy. Nick loved Howie the best he knew how. Problem was, he didn't know how very well._

_"We'll always be friends," Howie'd promised. "You're my Nicky. That's not gonna change."_

_He meant it. Howie doesn't lie. He was still there, still smiling, a shoulder when Nick needed one to lean on. But nothing more. When Nick'd bend closer, tilting his head for a kiss, Howie would pull away. "No, honey." As gentle as ever. As unyielding as Lance._

*** 

Lance doesn't call that night, and he doesn't call Monday either. Nick's trying not to think about it, but he _is_ thinking about it. He tells himself not to jump to conclusions. Things on Sunday were... good. But that doesn't mean anything else will come of it. And not hearing from Lance yet doesn't mean anything either. There's no reason to freak out. 

Nick takes the boat out on Tuesday, and by the time he docks halfway through the afternoon, freaking out is looking a lot more attractive. Everything about the boat, about being on the water, made him think of Lance. It's not even all bad, because being with Lance again did feel good, mostly. He just thinks he'd feel better if they'd talked after, if Lance had called. If he knew where things stood. What Lance was thinking. 

Well, he doesn't have to leave it all up to Lance. By the time he gets home he's almost definitely decided to call. A couple of beers later he's got the phone in his hand, but it still takes a while to actually shove all the _what if_ s out of his head and push the button. 

On the second ring it occurs to him that if Lance _is_ avoiding him, he'll probably see who's calling and not answer, and Nick'll look like a big fat loser and he _still_ won't feel any better, but then it's too late, because there's Lance's voice on the other end. "Nick?" He's talking softly, but he sounds happy. "Hey. Good to hear from you." 

"Yeah?" Nick asks, his heart beating in his throat at the sound of Lance's voice. He's relieved and pissed at the same time. "Oh. Um. Good. I guess." Gee, _that_ sounded intelligent. 

"Huh?" The ambient noise disappears for a minute; Lance has him on mute. Then, before Nick can figure out how he should react to that, Lance is back. "Sorry. I'm in a meeting, but--" 

Shit. Nick looks at the clock and sure enough, it's barely 2:30 in LA. God, he's an idiot. "I'm sorry," he says. "I... I forgot you were out there. Fuck. I mean..." 

"No, it's okay. They can wait." Nick can hear the tension in Lance's voice. He's delaying a meeting. Lance is delaying a meeting. He doesn't sound pissed, though; just concerned. "What's up?" 

And Nick has no fucking clue what to say to that. "I, uh," he says. "I think... You've been busy, huh?" 

"Yeah. Fuck, I'm ready to bail on this whole thing, y'know? More trouble than it's worth. It's like herding cats." Nick doesn't really know that much about the project Lance is working on in LA; a movie, he got that when they talked about it, but he tuned out the finer details of putting together the financing and licensing arrangements. "Listen," Lance says. "Is this--I mean, tell me. I should be done here in..." Nick can picture the expression on Lance's face, well-controlled exasperation. "An hour. I'll give them another hour; if they can't pull it together by then, I'm out of here. I mean, if this is important, let's talk now, but if it can wait? I'll be more relaxed then, I can, y'know. Have some privacy." 

Nick's tempted to keep Lance on the line now simply because he can. But that's--there's no reason for it. Lance is being decent. No, better than decent. Nick interrupted him in a meeting for no good reason and he's being _nice._

"No, man," he says quickly. "It ain't important. You can call me back later. Whenever." 

"In an hour or so. Maybe a little longer than that, give me a chance to get out to the car. Okay?" He lowers his voice. "I want to talk to you, Nick." 

Nick feels himself flushing. "Yeah. Okay. Talk to you later." 

So he's got an hour to kill. And he still wonders why Lance didn't call sooner, but somehow he feels deflated, the tension leached out of him by the brief phone call. He shrugs, decides to go out on the beach for a while. He takes his phone. 

He doesn't know what the hell he's gonna say to Lance. 

He walks for a little while, watching the shadows get longer, but he keeps checking his watch. He's back on the porch with a glass of tea when the phone rings, right on time. "Hey Lance." 

"Hey yourself." He can hear the smile in Lance's voice. "Thanks for calling." 

"Yeah. About that. Sorry I interrupted your meeting." 

"Not a problem. I was glad for the break. It's been crazy since I got here, and I wanted to call you yesterday, but by the time I got done with everything it was, like, ass o'clock in Florida, plus I was... well, not in the best mood. So I figured it was better not to take it out on you." 

Oh. Nick blinks. Lance wasn't calling... out of consideration for him? 

This is all way too confusing. 

There's silence on the line, he realizes, and he tells himself to say something, anything. "So, uh. Did, um, did you get what you wanted done at the meeting? Today, I mean." 

Lance makes a noncommittal noise. "It was fine. Just, you know. It gets old. I have about fifty more meetings this week, and tapings on Thursday and Friday." He pauses. "But listen, I don't want to talk about work. I really wanted to say I had a great time Sunday. So, you know. Thanks for taking me out." 

Nick takes a sip of his tea before he answers. "You're welcome." He thinks about it. "I had a good time, too," he finally adds. Confusing, but good. 

"I'm really glad." Lance's voice is warm. "I hope we can do it again sometime soon." 

"Yeah?" He's not sure which _it_ Lance is talking about, but he decides not to ask. 

"Definitely," Lance says, his voice lowering. "The water--like I said, I haven't been boating much lately, so I'd forgotten, but I can understand, I think, why you love it so much. Or start to understand, anyway." 

Nick doesn't know what to say about that. It's not what the past would've led him to expect, Lance taking an interest in something so important to him. So, one more reminder of how different Lance is now. And then of course, there's the sex. Nick _really_ doesn't know what he wants to say about _that_ , so he keeps his mouth shut, and the conversation stalls until, after a moment, Lance clears his throat. "You've got some more tour dates coming up, is that right?" 

"Yeah, a few next month," Nick answers warily, wondering what that has to do with anything. 

"I thought so," Lance continues. "I was thinking about trying to make one of your shows." 

Nick blinks. "Um. Oh." He knows there must be something intelligent he could say here, but he can't think what it might be. "Why?" 

Lance chuckles, and Nick figures that probably wasn't it. "I'd like to see you perform," Lance says. "Is that okay?" 

Nick shrugs. "Yeah, is that, sure, I guess. Just the show? I mean--" 

A low hum. "Well. If you've got a lot of other stuff going, interviews or whatever, I won't be offended if you don't have time for--you know. I mean, I know what it's like sometimes." Lance laughs, and this time Nick laughs with him. 

"Yeah. I mean, no, I'm sure--you really--I'm just surprised," Nick admits. "It's..." He hesitates, but makes himself say the next thought out loud. He's not ashamed of it, and if Lance doesn't understand, well... better to find that out now. "You know it's nothing like Justin's tour's gonna be, man." 

"Nick." Lance sounds... he doesn't know how Lance sounds. He's not laughing, anyway. "If I want to see Justin's show--and I do--I'll go see it. Can't I want to see yours, too?" 

"Well, sure, but..." Nick wants to punch himself. He loves his show, he's proud of it, and yet he's acting like it's some third-rate... _something_. "I just want to be sure you understand--" 

Lance huffs into the phone. "I do know the difference between clubs and arenas. I've performed in both, you might recall--and a lot smaller ones than you're playing, too." He pauses, then starts again, more quietly. "I don't know what I can say, Nick. If you don't want me there, I won't come. But really, this isn't American Idol, y'know, and I'm not Simon. Okay?" 

When Lance puts it that way it sounds ridiculous. But it's not, it's really not. Not a year ago, anyway, or two, or three, or four. And memories die hard. "Okay," he says. "I know, I'm... Okay. Sorry." 

After that it's kind of hard to get the conversation going again. Nick feels bad about that, but it's going to take time for him to be able to take Lance at face value. Still, he feels a little guilty when they hang up a few minutes later. 

"I'm not sure how long I'm gonna be in California," Lance had said, "You know how it is. But next time I can get back to Florida--I mean, if you're in town--I'd like to see you again. Okay?" 

Okay. Lance also said he'd call, "But you know how shit goes, so how late _can_ I call you, anyway?" Nick said he'd turn his ringer off if he didn't want to be disturbed. He suspects he'll end up putting it on silent, then checking every time he rolls over to see if it's flashing, but he doesn't have to share _that_ with Lance. 

The sun's gone down and the air's starting to get cool on his sunburn. He knows there must be weirder things in the world than what's happening with him and Lance right now, but he can't begin to think of what they are. 

*** 

_It was strange, when it all changed. When he started hearing 'Nsync songs on the radio more than theirs. When 'Nsync was on the cover of J-14, with Backstreet relegated to the lower right-hand corner. And especially when **No Strings Attached** came out, and all anyone could talk about was 'Nsync--their lawsuit, their success, their first week sales. _

_Like they invented lawsuits._

_He half expected Lance to stop calling him then, stop making the effort to come around. He thought he might've been happier that way. But Lance kept calling, and Nick kept saying yes, and that was that._

*** 

Friday Nick's on the road to Miami early, his stomach tense with nerves. He hates lawyer meetings, even if they mean he gets to see all the fellas. 

He still wishes it hadn't been his album that served as the catalyst for the action against Jive. But whatever. They're past it, everyone's okay with each other, the guys are being supportive and this is going to be a good day. It is. 

Traffic's worse than he expected, so he's pushed for time when he reaches the parking garage. He pulls into the first space he finds, and realizes Brian's in the car next to him. Nick grins at him through the window. Brian waves back and finishes pulling his things out of the car. 

Nick comes around the side and hugs him, hard. "Yo, man. It's good to see you." 

"You too, bro." He's smiling when Nick steps away. "You're late." 

Nick laughs. "Yeah? Good thing you are, too. Maybe I won't get in as much trouble." 

Brian punches him on the shoulder as they head toward the elevators together. 

"How's Baylee? And Leighanne?" They've barely started talking when the elevator reaches the lobby and their conversation's cut short by a handful of fans waiting there. How fans hear about meetings like this, Nick will never know. They know more about his schedule than he does himself, half the time. 

"Nick! Can I have a hug?" 

"Can you sign this, Brian? Please?" 

Nick glances at Brian and sees him slipping into his public face, feels the same thing happening to himself. 

"Hey, y'all," Brian says, reaching for an uncapped Sharpie someone's holding out. "We're in a hurry for a meeting, but we have time to sign a couple of autographs. Right, Nick?" 

Nick nods, already hugging a girl who looks up at him with dazed eyes. "Are you guys breaking up? I'll just die if you do." 

Nick shakes his head. "No. Don't worry, okay?" He feels Brian looking at him. "We're not breaking up." Nick reaches for another girl's copy of J-14, open to one of his solo shots from the album launch. "What's your name, honey?" 

It only takes them a few minutes to sign everything and get inside. Once they're past the guard station and waiting for the elevator to the upper floors, Brian laughs. "Dang. Fans'll find you anywhere, won't they?" 

Nick smiles. At least they're still trying. 

*** 

_It was the longest 48 hours of his life. The fighting, the crying, saying goodbye to AJ. TRL, talk show appearances, radio call-ins. It was hell. People were crawling out of the woodwork. Ghouls. Nick could feel their pity, their superiority, and he hated it._

_"They're only trying to help," Howie murmured, putting a calming hand on his shoulder._

_Most of them were, he knew. But when his phone flashed "Lance," Nick didn't answer. He didn't want to know what Lance would say. It would probably have involved the word "tragical," and he just wasn't up to dealing with that._

*** 

The meeting goes all right. Normally they do them by conference call, but this time there were a bunch of papers to sign, plus they hadn't seen each other in a while, so they'd decided to meet in person. During breaks, Nick thinks it almost feels like old times, laughing together, trading mock insults with Kevin, teasing AJ about his latest tattoo. 

When it's all done and the lawyers are packing up, Howie asks, "Hey, you guys want to go get dinner?" 

Kevin and Brian have flights out right away, going home to their wives, so it's just the three bachelors at a Cuban place Howie knows, where they greet him in lightning-fast Spanish and usher him, "Y tus amigos, ¡claro!" into a private room in the back. 

Dinner is delicious, but it's still awkward. Howie doesn't say anything about Lance, and Nick's glad for that. They pretty much steer clear of the whole topic of relationships, and if that's out of courtesy to AJ, it's fine with Nick, too. At the same time, though, he can't help remembering what it was like, when they were all up in each other's business 24/7, whether it was pretty or not. 

He needed a break; they all did, but now he thinks none of them realized, when it started, that it was going to change things forever--or how much, anyway. _Be careful what you wish for_ , or something like that. 

They don't drink with dinner, even though AJ tells them more than once that he doesn't mind. It just seems like the right thing to do, and it's not like Nick needs a drink to get through a meal with his brothers. Even now. Still, the result is that they finish before closing time, simply run out of things to say to each other. Exhaust the safe topics. 

AJ's staying with a friend in Miami for a few days, so he makes his goodbyes with hugs and mutual promises to stay in touch, "and not just when we've got meetings, right?" Which leaves Nick and Howie standing on the curb looking at each other. Without AJ there, there's not the tacit ban on drinking, or on certain lines of conversation. 

"I think I'm gonna hit the road," Nick says, before Howie suggests something he'd have to go along with or make a point of declining. "I want to sleep in my own bed, y'know? You gonna get a hotel, or drive back tonight?" 

Howie shrugs. His expression says he's debating pressing Nick on things, and Nick holds his breath a second, but then Howie grins. "I always liked being on the road at night," he says. "Though I gotta admit it was easier when someone else was doing the driving." 

Nick laughs, and the valets show up quickly with their cars, and then it's Howie's arms around him, slim but strong, holding him tight while Howie whispers in his ear, some Spanish blessing, his usual farewell. Nick knows he's letting Howie down, a little, by not staying longer, but he also knows they're okay. The one constant in his world, he thinks, as he readjusts the seat to normal-person height and puts the car in drive. 

He's not quite to the Turnpike, singing along with Bryan Adams, when his phone starts to vibrate. He manages to dig it out of his pocket without running off the road, and when he sees Lance's number flashing on the screen he hits TALK and hopes his voice doesn't sound too eager. "Hey, dawg. Hang on, let me turn down the music." 

He lowers the volume on his stereo and wishes he hadn't misplaced his hands-free thing. "Hey. I'm here." 

"You in the car, man? It's late there." 

Nick laughs. "Yeah. Well, I've been in Miami all day for a meeting with the fellas. I had dinner with Howie and AJ after, and I could've stayed over, but I kinda wanted to get home tonight. And I like driving in the dark." 

Lance hums in agreement, then asks, "So, you feel like some company? Or should I call back tomorrow?" 

"No, it's good, this is good." Nick merges onto the Turnpike and switches the phone to his left hand, propping his elbow up on the windowsill. "You can help me stay awake." 

"You know it." Lance pauses a second before asking, "So, uh, how's AJ doing?" 

Nick pauses for a second, surprised. They don't usually talk about each other's guys. They never have, much. "Well, you know. He's good." 

"Yeah? I'm glad. I was sorry when I heard he and Sarah split up--or, um, postponed the wedding, I mean. I hope he's feeling okay." 

And this is really weird. Lance asking about AJ. Knowing what's going on in his life. Caring about it. 

Nick clears his throat. "Um. Yeah. Well, he's kinda saying it was for the best, now." What AJ'd said was that he thought Sarah was using him to further her career, but it doesn't seem right to share the details with Lance. He's probably said more than he should already, not toeing the party line about "temporary" and "working things out." But then Lance is a pro too. He knows bullshit when he sees it. "I mean, he probably didn't go about it the best way, but I think he, well. I think he feels like it was the right result, you know?" 

"Yeah." Lance pauses. "Sometimes, well, I guess it takes a while to realize if someone is the right person or not." 

And there's no easy answer to that, so Nick just listens to the asphalt under his tires for a few seconds, then changes the subject. "So you had, what, tapings today?" 

"Yeah, the talented kids thing. We did one episode yesterday and one today." 

"You got a lot going on." 

"Well, you know, keeping busy." Lance laughs. "You never know when you might need a back-up plan in this business, right?" 

Nick is shocked enough that he can't ignore _that_. "You're not. I mean. You guys are still planning to record again, right?" 

"Oh, yeah. Sure, this fall, or, probably more realistically, beginning of next year. But still, I'm not gonna be doing that forever, you know?" 

And Lance really sounds okay with it, okay when he says that. Nick shakes his head. "Whatever, man. Easy to say that now." 

"What? Like, what's going on there, Nick? You guys weren't meeting to..." 

"God, no. It was about our lawsuit, same old stuff. And shit, I probably shouldn't even be talking to you about this." 

Lance doesn't say anything right away. When he does, he sounds a little stiff. "That's okay, if you'd rather not. I won't be--" 

"No. No, I'm just. Surprised." 

There's silence for a second. Then Lance clears his throat. "Surprised... because I'm planning for the future? Or because I'm interested in what's going on with you?" 

Well, both, really. Though more the second. Lance and plans, that's not a stretch, though Nick still thinks Lance has no idea how it'll really feel one day, whether it's this year or ten years down the road, when "someday" becomes "now," and he's looking at the rest of his life as an individual instead of part of a group. 

Maybe he's wrong, of course. 'Nsync always seems to handle things better than Backstreet, so maybe they'll break up exactly at the time it's perfect for all five of them, and all of them go on to the rest of their perfect careers, with their perfect friendship, and... 

"Nick? Did I lose you?" 

"No!" He shakes himself. "No, I'm here. Sorry. Driving..." It's a lie; the road is both empty and straight, but it's not something Lance is gonna call him on. "I guess... I'm just still getting used to this. Us. Um, talking, y'know?" 

Lance doesn't say anything, and Nick grimaces. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "You're..." He looks out at the darkness, trying to figure out the right thing to say. Him hurting Lance's feelings--that's a concept he's having trouble stretching his mind around. Still, he doesn't want to be a dick. "Are you interested?" he asks. "Because..." He takes a breath. "Today was... kinda weird. And if, I mean. If you want, I wouldn't mind, y'know. Talking about it. Not that it'd make sense to you," he adds, trying to keep his tone humorous rather than bitter. "You guys, always on the same team, no matter what." 

He can hear Lance sigh. "Nick..." A pause. "Aw, hell. Listen, there's no point us going through that, not right now, anyway. Trust me, okay? We're not perfect. Don't get me wrong--I love all the guys. I'm not sayin' I don't. But, y'know, best friends doesn't mean nothing's ever hard." 

Nick thinks Lance has no idea what _hard_ means, but it's late, and he's tired, and he's willing to give it a try. "So..." 

"So please," Lance says. "I'm listening." 

"This probably isn't what you called to talk about." 

"I called to hear your voice." It's cheesy, but it sounds like he means it, and Nick's surprised at how good that feels. "You want to talk about baseball, talk about baseball. You want to talk about your day, go ahead." 

Nick laughs. "Well, dude, really, I think this could be the Cubs' year." 

Lance has a nice laugh. Low and sexy. Not like Nick's giggle, which he keeps meaning to train himself out of, and then forgetting. "No chance," Lance says. "Yankees are goin' all the way!" 

"Yeah, yeah." Damn, this talking to Lance business, a guy could get used to it. And, really, does he want to spoil what could be a nice, relaxing drive by rehashing the rest of the day? 

But Lance falls silent, then, waiting, and before Nick knows it, the words are coming out. "It's so weird. I've spent over ten years with them, you know? They seriously know me better than my own family." Which isn't necessarily saying a lot, but still. "And it's fuckin' weird, to look around that table and not know exactly what everyone's thinking." He stares out at the white line flashing down the middle of the road in his headlights. "Like, stuff we used to know without even talking about." 

"Yeah," Lance says softly. 

"I mean, it's not like I thought things would always be the same. Hell, it's not like I wanted 'em to. But it's... weird." 

Lance clears his throat quietly. "Do you guys still fight like you used to?" 

Nick's taken aback for a second, but then he remembers that Lance knows, has known him for a long time even if he never spent much time around the guys. Still, he can't help but be a little defensive. "Well, it wasn't all fighting, you know," he begins, and Lance interrupts immediately. 

"Oh, no. I didn't mean it that way. I meant, even when y'all were getting along, it seemed like you always fought, you know, like brothers. From what I could see, anyway." 

That much is true, Nick has to admit. "Yeah, we did." He frowns a little. "And no. We don't anymore. Now it's like--even when we get, like, angry or whatever, we don't fight." He remembers the first meetings about this lawsuit, the painful, controlled discussions about his album, and what it meant to the group. "We just, kinda, discuss everything. Like, I don't know. Business partners or something." 

"Like negotiating?" 

Nick thinks about it. "Yeah." That's really it. He doesn't know how Lance could figure that out from what he was saying. 

"That's how it is for us, too," Lance says. "I mean, how it's always been. Since the lawsuit, anyway. We kinda started dealing with the business stuff like business stuff." 

Huh. "So it's, you know, you're okay with that?" 

"Well, yeah. It works for us, anyway. So what I mean is, maybe it doesn't have to be a bad thing--for you guys either?" 

They still talk about music, though, Nick thinks. Recording, rehearsing, touring, all of that. Not which law firm they should go with, and what grounds they have for the next filing. Always stuff about _his_ album, instead of _their_ next one. That's what he thinks is the biggest difference. The hardest one to handle. 

"Sometimes I'm sorry I did my record," he says quietly. "Maybe if I hadn't, _we_ would've had one out by now." 

"Well, maybe," Lance says mildly. "Maybe not. You'll never know, now." Just like that, like it's that simple. And maybe it is. "But I don't think you have anything to apologize for." He pauses for a few moments. "I really like your CD, by the way. I should've said, sooner." 

Nick feels himself flushing hot in the darkness, and switches his phone to his other ear. "You. You've listened to it?" He'd never even considered that. Maybe he'd just never let himself wonder about it. 

"Of course." Lance sounds disbelieving. "Man, you really thought I hadn't?" 

Nick opens his mouth to respond, but can't think of anything that won't sound rude, although he doesn't exactly mean it that way. He shuts his mouth again. 

"I got it when I came back from Russia," Lance continues. "It's good. And it sounds like you had fun making it." 

Finally, Nick forces himself to speak. "That's, yeah. I did." His brain is racing. 

Then comes silence. Nick's starting to wonder whether it's safe to change the subject, when Lance coughs a little. "I, um. Actually, that was the--well, one of the reasons why I called you." 

"Tonight?" 

"Uh. No. I mean, last week." 

And that doesn't really make much more sense. "Okay..." he draws the word out. "Why?" 

"Um. Okay, this is gonna be really embarrassing if I'm wrong." He draws a breath. "That song. You know?" 

_Oh._ Now Nick knows, and he's full-on blushing, but he plays dumb. "What song?" 

Lance laughs, a little nervously. "Come on, man. Don't do this to me." 

"Do what?" Nick asks, trying not to giggle. Oh, God. The one thing he'd never expected, having to talk to Lance about "My Confession." He should have, now that he thinks about it. It wasn't exactly subtle. But he didn't. 

"Are you saying it wasn't about me?" Lance still sounds like he's smiling, but he sounds a little uncertain, too. 

Nick can't resist. "Sorry to burst your bubble, dude. That song is about, like, you know. Falling for a space alien. Couldn't you tell?" 

And now Lance is _really_ laughing, deep belly laughs, and Nick isn't even sure why, but he can't help but laugh too. God. It feels good. 

Finally, still trying to smother giggles, Lance gasps, "Nick, leave the space alien love songs to JC. Seriously, I've heard his new stuff. He's got that covered." 

Nick blinks. He's vaguely heard that JC's doing an album. He hasn't been paying much attention. Okay, maybe he's been actively avoiding hearing about it: 'Nsync has room for _two_ golden boys, and all he's managed to do is break up his band. 

Somehow, with Lance's laughter echoing warmly from across the continent, the thought lacks its normal sting. " _No_. He hasn't written a song about..." 

"Of course he has. How can you even ask? He played it for me last night." Lance almost has his voice under control now. "It's actually really good," he says loyally, and Nick grins. 

"I'll bet." 

"No, really, it is. I don't know anyone else who could pull it off, but... that's JC." There's a pause in the conversation, a comfortable one this time. The CD's started over, the road is still empty, and Nick's still smiling when Lance speaks again. "So, are you driving a stick or an automatic?" 

"Huh? An automatic, of course, wh--" Nick stops, something in Lance's voice filtering through his surprise at the dumb question. "Why?" he asks, cautiously. 

"Mmm," Lance responds, and now Nick knows he's not imagining the deeper, richer tone. "So you've got one hand free, then," he drawls. 

"Dude." Nick tries to sound... he's not sure. Shocked. No, less than shocked, but not interested. He doesn't want to sound interested. He's _not_ interested... is he? No. And besides, he's holding the damn phone anyway. Not that he'd... even if... 

"Hey, just tryin' to think of a more relaxing way to pass the time," Lance says, his voice husky. And damn if Nick's cock doesn't think that's a good idea, even if it's dead fucking wrong. 

"Dude. First of all, hello, I'm driving!" That shouldn't have been first. First should've been, how does Lance go from a normal conversation into phone sex without any... any... Nick's not sure what. But without any _something_. 

"C'mon. You're saying you've never...?" 

"While I'm driving? Of course not!" Well, there was that one time, he and Howie'd been on a road trip to... he can't even remember where, but they'd been smoking up, and Howie'd started licking his neck, and... oh, God, remembering _that_ was not a good way to keep his hand on the wheel. 

"Mmm," Lance purrs again, thoughtful and so fucking sexy. "You're missin' out." His words are coming slower, liquid vowels, and Nick can't help picturing him, in some house in LA somewhere, sitting on a couch, hips canted forward, thighs spread, head back against the cushions, cradling the phone against his shoulder... 

"What're you wearing?" Oh God. He did _not_ just say that. "I mean--" 

But Lance isn't laughing. Apparently this isn't some weird joke, or if it is, he's willing to keep playing it out. "I'm wearing sweatpants," Lance says. "They're soft. Gray. And a T-shirt. I was workin' out earlier--I'm kind of sweaty--I was gonna shower and go out, but then I decided I'd rather talk to you." 

Nick swallows. The hair all over his body is pricking up, and some other things too. "Oh," he says. "Did you--I mean, that's why you called?" He's trying to find his indignation. And really, it's not like they're... _together_ or something; they had sex _once_ , that doesn't give Lance the right to expect he can just call up and... get off. 

But Lance's answer is quick, sure. Nick can almost see him sitting up a little straighter on the couch. His hand coming away from... God, Nick's imagining it whether he wants to or not. "No, no. I called, I wanted to talk--" Lance's soft laugh. "Your voice," he says. "It's sexy. I couldn't, I just thought... but we don't have to. I don't have to." 

Nick nods. Good. That's good. Except... "No," he hears himself saying. "No, it's... I don't mind. I mean, I can't. I'm driving. But," he's blushing, and he's glad no one's around to see it, "if you want to. I mean, I can. Talk to you." 

"You sure?" 

He takes a breath. He's not sure about much, these days. Definitely not when it comes to Lance. "Yeah," he says. "Go ahead. I mean, if you want." 

There's silence for a moment, and then Lance sighs, and Nick sees it in his head, how Lance's hand drifts back over his thigh once more to press against the front of his sweatpants. Or maybe not quite there yet. Just resting, on that new crease of muscle at his hip, fingertips not quite touching... "Well... if you don't mind." Lance's voice is deep and dark, and Nick grips the steering wheel tighter, wishing to God he hadn't lost that fucking hands-free thing. He could put the phone on speaker, but that seems... weird. "I'll owe you one," Lance breathes, and Nick nearly crushes the phone in his fist. Lance thinks _Nick's_ voice is sexy? 

"Are you," Nick stops to clear his throat, "are you, um, hard?" 

Lance chokes back a laugh. "You could say that. Fuck, yeah. Just from listening to you, man." 

And that's really kind of mindblowing. Nick forces himself to focus on the road, keep driving. On the causeway, now, and he needs to pay attention. He swallows hard, then asks, "Uh, do you wanna take off your pants?" 

He can hear the lazy smile in Lance's voice when he answers. "I don't know. Do I?" 

God. This is a bad idea. He's getting so turned on, Lance always had the best voice, and it's like he's not even trying, now, he's just... Lance is just _sex_. He is. He always has been, Nick thinks, at least to him. 

Okay. Maintain. "No," he says. "No. Not yet." Lance makes a soft noise, something like disappointment, maybe, and Nick smiles. "Sweats, you said, right?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Okay. Touch yourself through them. Not too hard yet, just slide your fingers down. Keep going, too; touch your balls. I know you like that. Cup them in your fingers, hold yourself, gently." 

Lance sucks in air; Nick can hear it. God, this is weird. They've probably had phone sex--well, too many times to count. But it never felt like this. For one thing, Lance was usually the one doing the talking. And Nick was pretty much always the one who couldn't hide how much he wanted it. 

"Ohh..." Nick jumps. Jesus. Lance's voice is gonna kill him. "Feels good," Lance breathes. "What... can I... can I touch my dick again?" 

"Yeah," Nick says, trying not to picture every fucking detail. Failing. "Just the palm of your hand, slide it down, press on it..." 

Lance moans. "Fuckin' tease. God, Nick. Want... want you." 

"Tell me," Nick says, can't help saying. He tries to make it sound like a command. "Tell me, is it--are you, tell me exactly what you're doing." 

"I'm..." A pause. "Like you said. Just pressing down, rubbing a little. 'm so hard, Nick. I can feel--I'm leaking, my shorts, I can feel them getting wet. When I rub my thumb over the head, I--" He hisses, and Nick can feel the sound jolt down his own spine. 

"I," he clears his throat, "I didn't say you could do that yet. You want to do this on your own? I can hang up, let you..." 

"No." Lance's reply is quick. "No, please. C'mon, Nick. I'll... I'll be good." 

God. _Good_ is the least of it. "Okay," he says. "Okay," giving in, for both of them, he guesses. "All right, Lance. If you--you can take your pants off, if you want." 

"Are you--I can wait. Really. I'll... I'll do what you tell me to." 

Nick isn't sure he can wait, though, not sure at all. "No, it's okay. Go ahead." There's only about a half-second's pause, and then he hears a rustle of movement. "Tell me what you're doing." 

"Okay," Lance's voice sounds strained, a little muffled as if he's using both hands to get his clothes off. "I'm untying the drawstring. And--wait--pushing them down now. And my shorts--okay? All the way off?" 

"Yeah," Nick says, "go on." And he thinks he hears it, the soft fabric moving over softer skin as Lance pushes the pants to the floor. 

"Okay," Lance growls a second later. "Now what?" 

This is harder than he'd have thought. Especially when he's trying not to crash the damn car. Picturing Lance, naked... "Where are you?" he asks. Even though the more he knows, the worse it'll be. 

"On my bed." 

Yup. Worse. 

"I was, like I said, I was gonna take a shower, but..." 

But then he'd decided to call. Nick bites the inside of his cheek, hard. "Can you... do you need a hand to hold the phone, or..." 

"Nuh-uh." Lance chuckles. "Wireless earpiece, man, it's the only way to go." 

Count on Lance to have the latest and greatest, and find creative uses for it. Well, Nick wouldn't object to a little more technology right now himself. Like, autopilot for the car would be really nice. 

"Okay. Okay, so you've got both hands..." Nick feels a little stupid, but--God--he can hear the need in Lance's voice, and that's enough to make his embarrassment fall away. "So, okay, you can touch yourself now. One hand on your dick. And, like, play with your nipples with the other hand. And... tell me what you're thinking about." Maybe that'll be easier. Make Lance talk, and he can just. Listen. 

Lance's groan, almost immediate, shivers down Nick's spine. "Okay," he gasps. "Fuck... I'm, okay, I'm touching myself. Like, like you said." A heavy breath. "Not too fast. Not yet. But fuck, Nick, I'm so hard. And I'm thinkin' about... you, driving on the highway, in the dark. I wish I was there. I'd be in the passenger seat, and you could reach across, and... fuck." 

"What?" Nick hopes he doesn't sound too breathless. Not that Lance is in any state to notice. "I'd reach across, and... what?" 

A moan. "It would be your hand on me, instead of mine. Your big, strong hand." Lance's breath hitches. "Strokin' me like this." 

"What if I was driving a stick? Would you ask me to pull over?" 

Lance laughs, breathy and low, "You can drive this stick any day, baby." 

Nick laughs, too, shaking his head. "Dude. I am _not_ gonna get caught jerking you off on the side of the highway." Though it's a good thing, really, that Lance isn't there to test him on that. 

"Are you sure?" Lance's voice. Damn, Lance's voice. "What if I begged? I'd beg you. Please, Nick. Please, touch me, kiss me. Bite my--God--bite my nipples--" 

This time when he hears the moan, it takes Nick a split second to realize it's his own voice. _Fuck._ Lance, begging. And whatever he's doing to himself, to his nipples, to make him sound like that... He clears his throat again. "So, my hand, on you. And..." 

"Yeah, you and your big hands. Everything about you, Nick, so big and pretty. I love to look at you. I love to touch you. And I fuckin'--God, I fuckin' _love_ it when you touch me." 

Nick gasps. He can't do this. He can't. It's... Lance is changing it, talking about _him_ , and oh, right, he's the one who asked what Lance was thinking. Smart, Carter. Really smart. "How..." He can barely get the words out. "How am I touching you?" He doesn't want to hear the answer. And he _has_ to. 

"You're stroking me. Nice and strong. Steady." Lance swallows, and Nick can see his Adam's apple bob. "And you're..." Lance hesitates. "Is this okay? You're touchin' me. Behind my balls. Back... oh, God, please, will you? Your fingers, God. Big. Not as big as your cock, not hardly, but. Please, Nick." 

Lance's voice. God, Lance's voice. He sounds like he's going to break, any second, and Nick hopes he doesn't break first. "Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, sure, Lance. Of course. You want, d'you have, um--" 

"Yeah." Fast. Urgent. "Yeah, I've got stuff," Nick can hear movement, he's not sure what, a thunk and a little grunt of effort from Lance, and then, "Yeah," again, "Oh... oh, Nick. God. Yes. Just--yeah, slide it right in there, feels so good, please, more--I want it, I'm ready--" 

Nick's mouth's gone dry. His eyes are fixed on the road, but damn he's glad it's a straight shot, as far as he can see. "Yeah," he says. "You--Lance, I'll give you all you want. All you can take." He swallows. "That deep enough?" 

Lance cries out, then, a soft whimper that turns Nick's blood to flame. "Nick, oh, God--that's so good. So close. I'm so close, Nick, please, I can't--can't hold on much longer, I'm gonna, I'm gonna--" 

Nick nods, urgent as Lance's voice. "Yes. Yeah, baby. Come on. Come for me. I want to--want to feel you, so tight around my finger--" guessing, he corrects himself, "--fingers." Lance's moan tells him he was right, and he forces himself to keep talking. "That's right, not gonna be long now, is it? Want you to come, come all over that beautiful chest of yours, c'mon..." 

"Oh, oh--fuck, yeah..." Lance's voice sounds strangled, strained, and then he draws in a gasping breath, and Nick can practically hear his bones shaking. "I'm--God--I'm coming, Nick..." 

"Come, baby, come on, come for me," Nick chants, and he hears Lance answering _yes, yes_ , until the words break apart. His low wail practically short-circuits Nick's brain, and Nick swears under his breath. Fuck. _Fuck._ He's so fucking hard he can barely see, and the sounds Lance is making, the _noises..._

"Fuck it," he whispers harshly, pulling one knee up to hold the steering wheel steady. "Hang on," he thinks to say--as if Lance is listening--before he drops the phone into the other seat and reaches for his belt with both hands. 

A few moments later his pants are open, dick poking up through the fly of his boxers, and he's got the phone to his ear again, in time to hear Lance coming back down. "Yeah, Nick," Lance sighs. "God. Thank you." 

Nick steadies the steering wheel against his knee once more, checks the rearview mirror for lights, and sends up a prayer as he reaches into his lap. "Lance," he hisses, fingers wrapping around his aching dick. "Shit. Talk to me, man." 

"Mmm..." Lance purrs in his ear. "Are you touching yourself, Nick?" 

"Fuck," Nick growls. "You know I am, you fucker." He tightens his fingers around his dick and can't help but moan. "You sounded so fucking hot, man. C'mon, Lance, get me off." 

Lance chuckles, and it's languid now, slow and dark like molasses, and Nick squirms in the seat. "You got me off so good, baby," Lance murmurs. "I'll take care of you, too. Hang on a second." Nick hears Lance shifting on the bed across the country, and he checks his speed and tries not to whimper. 

Lance is back a second later. "I got a big mess here. I wish I was there so you could clean me up." 

"Oh... yeah." The thought of it, his tongue on Lance, licking him clean, makes Nick feel weak. "And... and if I did that, what would you do?" 

"Let's see... I'd lean over, real low, down in your lap, and open your pants up." Nick's hips jerk forward, and he lets go of himself for a second to straighten the wheel. "You got your pants open?" 

"Yeah," Nick whispers. 

"Good. I want you to touch yourself, baby, lick your fingers and touch the tip of your cock, slip them over the head like I'm kissing you. If I was there I'd be kissing you." 

Nick has to concentrate to keep his eyes from sliding shut at Lance's words. _Shit, shit, I'm gonna die_ , he thinks. _Might be worth it, though._ And then, finally, Nick sees a parking area coming up on the right. "Thank fucking God," he groans, braking and pulling off the causeway. 

"What?" Lance sounds confused. 

"I'm parking. God. You're killing me." 

"Dude, you're still driving?" Lance laughs. 

"Not anymore," Nick snaps as he pulls into a couple of parking spaces and cuts the lights. He's so hard it hurts. "Fuck, talk to me, Lance." He presses the phone to his ear. 

"Okay. Okay." Lance seems willing to let it go. "Do like I said. Lick your fingers and touch yourself, just the tip." 

Nick does it, hissing as his slick fingers slide over the sensitive skin. 

"I know how big and hard you are, baby. If I was there, I'd be kissing that gorgeous cock, running my tongue around the head..." Lance trails off. "God. I can almost taste it." 

"I can almost feel it," Nick answers, and it doesn't feel cheesy when he says it, although he knows that's got to be a sign of brain death. 

"I've been thinkin' about you a lot this week," Lance purrs. "About... the boat." 

"Uh-huh," Nick says, to keep Lance going. It doesn't really matter what Lance talks about, as long as he _talks_. Nick's trying to touch himself the way Lance said to, but he's been waiting too long already--wanting too long--to have much control left. Besides, teasing's a lot more fun when he's _not_ half looking over his shoulder for a cop. So it's only a few seconds before he's pumping himself, and he knows he's not gonna last. 

"You were so gorgeous," Lance says. "Everything. But what I keep remembering was how you tasted. God, Nick." There's a soft, wet sound, and then Lance continues, "I can tell the difference. You taste different than me." 

Oh God. Oh God. Lance is. Lance is tasting himself. Lance is tasting himself and talking about Nick and... Nick hears himself groan, his fist moving fast, faster. 

"I loved it," Lance is murmuring. "I loved havin' you in my mouth, feeling you, feeling you get harder and harder, leaking on my tongue, I loved that. Tasted so good. Made me feel so good. I want to do that again, Nick. Want to taste you, want to make you feel good, make you come. Will you let me? Can I suck you again? Swallow that big, beautiful cock of yours and--" 

"Jesus--" Nick's body shudders as he shoots, wet and sticky, all over his hand, his shirt, maybe if he's lucky not the upholstery, but he'll worry about that later, because fuck, Lance. Lance. His hips are still rocking, hips and hand working together to coax every last electric pulse out of his cock, out of his balls. 

And Lance is still talking, his voice maybe even sexier now, if that's possible. "Oh, God, Nick. God. You sound... fuck. Fuck, I wish I really was there. Mmm, I'd like to see you right now. Your eyes, your eyes are so gorgeous right after you come, so sexy, and I could lick you, lick you clean, then kiss you, fuck your mouth with my tongue... 'm gettin' hard again just thinking about it." 

Oh, God. His heart's still pounding, he's still shaking with pleasure, and Lance is still purring porn at him. "Fuck, Lance," he manages. "Fuck." Laughing a little, now. This is crazy. What are they--how did they end up doing _this_? 

"That sounded really good," Lance replies. "So hot. I hope it felt as good as it sounded." _Yeah_ , Nick thinks, he's pretty sure it did. He's trying to think of something sexy to say back, but before he can come up with anything Lance's voice drops a little and he continues, "I was hopin' there might be a way I could get back to Florida soon, but it looks like I'm gonna be here for a while. Which, y'know, I'm glad I'm working on these projects, but..." A second's pause. "I miss you. Is that stupid? I know we're not really..." Lance clears his throat. "I mean, I'm not trying to rush you. But I really want to see you." 

Nick drags in a breath and tries to clear his head. It's still hard to concentrate, and what Lance is saying isn't making it any easier. "That's okay, man." Okay that Lance can't come back yet? Or okay that Lance misses him? He's not even sure what he means, himself. "That's not, I mean. Um. I was gonna tell you. I might be out in LA sometime in the next couple weeks. I don't know yet for sure." 

"What?" The excitement in Lance's voice sends another shiver through Nick. 

"Yeah. Um. I'm gonna maybe be in a movie, uh, later this year?" 

"Man! Why didn't you tell me? That's so great!" 

Nick shrugs. "It's not certain yet. My management's been handling it so far. But I might be going out to LA for some meetings, you know. Like. Sometime soon. " 

"Do you need a place to stay? Cause..." 

Nick laughs automatically. "I think I can still afford a hotel room, dawg. Besides, Kevin and AJ both live out there, remember?" He's already halfway through his answer before it hits him what Lance just offered. And how weird it would be, to _stay_. With _Lance_. 

Lance is silent a moment, but when he speaks again he still sounds like he's smiling. "Okay. That's--whatever you wanna do, that's great, Nick. Listen, call me as soon as you know for sure, okay? I've got a bunch of meetings and stuff going, but if I know ahead of time I can reschedule, and God. I would love to see you again. Okay?" 

"Okay. Okay." Nick smiles in the darkness. "I'll call you when I find out." 

"Cool." 

Nick's search for a reply is interrupted by a quiet click on Lance's end. "You got another call?" 

"It's okay, it can go to voicemail," Lance replies. 

"Nah, go on and get it, dude. I need to clean up a little here, and then I gotta get home." Nick glances out at the dark causeway, thanking his lucky stars that he didn't get caught. 

"You drive safe, okay?" Lance is grinning, Nick can hear. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." 

Nick almost chokes. "Yeah, right. I'll talk to you later, man." 

As soon as they hang up, Nick pulls his shirt off over his head and wipes himself down with it. Well, there's no harm in driving home shirtless. He's done it from the marina a hundred times. He tucks his dick back in his boxers and lifts his hips slightly to zip up his khakis. God. Jacking off on the highway. Kevin would freak if he knew. 

Nick grins at the thought and cranks the car, rolling the windows down to air it out some. The breeze blows in off the water and he checks the clock. He'll be home in an hour, he thinks. 

*** 

_The last thing Nick wanted was to appear at a stupid awards show. But he couldn't flake out on a commitment now, not after AJ's announcement._

_He was trying to decide how soon he could possibly leave the after-party, when there was a flurry of flashbulbs and Chris Kirkpatrick was reaching up to hug him, and it was like a fuckin' receiving line or something._

_He winced when he got to Lance, afraid to meet his eyes and find mockery there. But Lance just held him tight an extra second, whispering something Nick didn't quite catch._

_It sounded surprisingly gentle._

*** 

Nick can't help but laugh when he gets home and hears the message from his agent. They want him in California on Monday morning; can he fly on Sunday? She'll call back with details. 

He checks his watch. It's only 12:30 in LA; Lance is bound to still be up. Well, he said he'd call when he knew for sure. 

He pulls Lance's number up from the received calls list, and takes a moment before he dials to enter it in the phonebook. He's been putting this off, but if he's gonna have phone sex with the guy, it seems like maybe it's time to admit they're talking again. _I can't believe I'm doing this_ , he's thinking as he keys in L - A - N - C - E. 

The phone rings a few times before Lance picks up, and Nick's half laughing already, gearing up to say something like, _What, you goin' another round without me?_ But then Lance is yelling "Hello?" in his ear, and there's music blasting in the background, and whoops, apparently thinking Lance would be alone was a big mistake. 

He considers hanging up, pretending he forgot to put his key-guard on and sat on the phone or something, but he takes a breath and tries to slow his pulse back down. "Hey," he yells back, standing up and pacing while Lance mutters incomprehensibly to whoever he's partying with. 

After a minute the music volume goes down a little, and Lance is back. "Hey, what's up?" Still loud, still people talking loudly behind him, and Nick holds the phone away from his ear, trying to figure out what to say. His excitement about coming to California is fading, and there's another spike of laughter behind Lance and then Lance says, "C'mon, J, can you hold it down for a minute?" Suddenly Nick feels sick. 

"Sorry," he says, trying to keep his voice light. "I didn't mean to interrupt." 

"No, no, it's okay," Lance says, all good-natured the way he is when he's had a few. "What's up? You get home okay?" And the knowing tone in his voice is just more than Nick really thinks he can take right now. 

"Listen, I--forget it," he says. "I shouldn't have--this was a mistake." 

"Wait, what--can y'all be quiet for a minute, I'm tryin' to talk here--Nick, what, what's wrong?" 

Before Nick can answer, he hears another voice in the background. "Nick? Oh, _Nick_. Say hi to Nick for me." Justin's voice is fainter, further from the phone, but it's easily recognizable, and then there's more laughter, male and female. 

What's _wrong_? Lance is with Justin. Maybe they got together right after he and Nick hung up; it's been less than two hours. Did Lance tell him, are they laughing together about how Lance got Nick to jack off in public? "Nothing," Nick finally grits out. "I shouldn't have called. Go have fun with Justin, Lance. Sorry for butting in." He jams the END button hard, before he really blows up and says something stupid. 

Nick squeezes his eyes shut to try to block the images. Lance and Justin together, not in a club or whatever but in a hotel room, naked. So busy fucking that they didn't even look up until Nick stumbled against a table just inside the door. Lance's awkward laugh, the last thing Nick heard as the door clicked shut behind him. 

There's a moment's pause, and then the phone starts ringing. He doesn't answer, and after a moment it stops, then starts again. Finally, against his better judgment, he thumbs it on. "What?" he demands. 

"Nick, what the hell?" Lance sounds part mad, part hurt, and that's the last straw. 

"What the hell is right," Nick snaps back. "I thought, I was... whatever, man. You want to laugh at me, go ahead, fuckin' laugh all you want. I don't even care. I guess I'm not the player you are. You and Justin can have each other, okay? It's not a big loss to me. Just, whatever." He's shaking all over, but he's not going to throw the phone, he's not going to break things. He's not going to handle his problems that way anymore. This isn't a reflection on him, it's Lance, Lance is the one who's fucked up. _Let it go_ , he hears his therapist saying, and he clenches his fist around the phone but doesn't pull his arm back and smash it against the wall. 

"Is that what you really think?" Lance's voice is tight, and Nick can hear the tension in it over the music still playing in the background, the laughter and voices. "After all this--what we've been--you really think I'm playin' you?" 

"What the hell am I supposed to think?" 

Lance takes an audible breath before he answers. "I don't know, Nick," he says coolly. "That I'm out with some of my friends, maybe, like _you_ were earlier tonight? Jesus." His voice rises, and he pauses as if to get it under control. When he speaks again, the words are low. "Don't you think you're being a little irrational?" 

Fuck. _Fuck._ Lance is always so fucking infuriating, how could Nick have forgotten? " _Irrational?_ " he barks. "No. No, Lance, I don't. It seems _perfectly_ rational to me. The only irrational thing was thinking--talking to you in the first place, wasting my fucking time..." 

A shout of laughter on the other end--"No, no, turn here, the entrance is on the side,"--cuts his words off. He can just see it, Justin and Lance and who knows who all else, in the back of a limo or a Denali or whatever, headed to some oh-so-trendy club. 

"Fuck you, Lance," he hisses, "and don't bother calling again, asshole." Now would be the perfect time to hang up, he thinks. 

"Nick," Lance growls. "Fuck. I can't--don't. Don't do this. Not now. Not like this." 

God. Why does it hurt so much to hear that tone in Lance's voice? First off, it's not like this really matters that much to Lance, or he wouldn't be out with fuckin' Justin to begin with. And even if Lance _is_ hurting, Nick should be happy about that. Lance deserves to hurt. Still, Nick has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from replying. Apologizing. 

Then Lance sighs, and speaks again. Quieter, maybe the rest of the party's moved into the club or something. "Listen. I don't want--I can't talk about this right now. Here. Please--I'm gonna call you tomorrow, and we'll talk then." 

Oh, yeah, it's always about what Lance wants to do, isn't it? "Don't waste your time," Nick says stiffly. "I don't think we have anything left to--" 

"Goddamn it, Nick, haven't you noticed how hard I've been _trying_?" Lance's frustration practically buzzes in Nick's ear. "Do you really want to throw it all aw--" He stops. "Fuck. Just--go get some sleep. I hope we can talk tomorrow." 

"Fuck you. Fuck you. Don't fuckin' tell me what to do. Here, try this: Go fuck yourself. Or fuck Justin, I don't care." He _does_ throw the phone then. Screw it, he never said he was perfect. 

*** 

_"You could do better, man." Brian's look was pointed. "A lot better."_

_Nick frowned and looked down. It was so easy for Brian. It seemed like he'd always had Leighanne, he'd always had this perfect relationship, he'd always known._

_It wasn't like that for Nick._

_"I just wanna see you happy, bro," Brian continued. "You know, with someone who's actually a nice person."_

_"He is a nice person," Nick whispered._

_And it was true. It's not like Lance was a bastard. Not to his family, his guys, his friends, his employees. He was thoughtful. Caring. Nice._

_"Not to you, Nick."_

*** 

The ringing phone drills into his head and, half drunk and the other half asleep, he answers it just to get it to stop. It only takes a second for Lance's voice on the other end to remind him why he feels so shitty, and he slams the receiver back down, then roughly unplugs the cord from the base before burying his head in the pillow again. 

Later in the afternoon, halfway through his second cup of coffee, he realizes he's either going to have to check his messages or explain to his agent why he doesn't have the schedule information she surely left, meticulously, on voicemail. 

He skips Lance's messages, all three of them on the house phone, and two more on the cell. Sheila's message is on his cell after Lance's, and the phone actually starts vibrating again while he's copying down his flight information. 

The image of Lance doggedly pressing redial has a certain appeal, and he manages a tight smile, telling himself he's glad when Lance doesn't leave another message. An hour or so later, though, when the phone buzzes again, it's more annoying than he can ignore. "What part of _I don't want to talk to you_ aren't you getting?" he demands, his finger hovering over the END button. 

"Nick--" Lance sounds... What? Tired. Frustrated. _Good_ , Nick thinks. He _should_ be frustrated. Worse than frustrated. Lance takes a breath. "Lis--" Stops, starts again. "I'm glad you picked up," he says. Which makes one of them, but Nick's still holding the phone, so... whatever. "Nick, I'm sorry--I don't know why you got so mad last night, but please, can't we talk about it?" There's a pause not quite long enough for Nick to say anything back, and Lance corrects himself. "I mean--we _are_ gonna talk about it. I'm not, I'm not letting you go just because of some dumb argument, over nothing, for heaven's sake. I'm not." 

"Who says it's up to you? You don't--just because we fucked--I don't have to talk to you if I don't want to." Great. He sounds like a six-year-old. Well, that's Lance for you. 

"Well, you're right, you don't have to talk to me," Lance admits. "But I'm not gonna go away. Honestly, I think you're bein' a dick right now. But I still want to try. I've... you still, you're worth it. To me." 

"Gee, thanks _so_ much," Nick drawls. "Listen, don't do me any favors, dude. I don't need for you to think I'm _worth it_." 

Lance sighs. "Damn it, Nick. Stop twisting my words around. C'mon, man. We have to talk about this sometime." 

Nick grips the phone tighter. "No. No, we really don't, Lance." His jaw is clenched so tight that he has to force the words out. "I don't think we need to talk about anything. Ever again." 

"Well, we _are_ gonna talk about Justin." 

Nick stares at the phone. Fuckin' _Lance_. Nick can't believe he said that. "What the hell makes you think I want to talk about Justin?" 

"Maybe the fact that you keep bringing him up." 

And God _damn_. " _I_ keep bringing him up? I'm not the one who was out with him last night." 

"That's right," Lance agrees. "That was me. Just like you were out with Howie and AJ. Because Justin's my _friend_. That's not going to change." 

"Yeah. He's your friend. Like I'm--what did you say?--a _dick_. And I guess that's not gonna change either." 

Lance is silent for a few seconds, and when he finally answers he sounds deceptively calm. "You're not a dick, _asshole_ , but you're really acting like one." 

Nick closes his eyes. He'd like to ignore what Lance is saying, but he can't. He's learned too much about himself, about how he lashes out when he's hurt, not to know Lance is right. He may hate to think about Lance and Justin being together, but he knows Lance has a point. 

"Fine. Sorry," he finally grits out. 

"Okay," Lance replies, his voice quiet. "But tell me. What is it you think is happening when I'm with Justin?" 

Nick laughs harshly. "Well, I _wonder_. The last time I saw you guys together..." 

"Come _on_ , Nick. You know we're not fucking. That was _one time_. I told you. Don't you think we would've, like, done it again by now, if there was gonna be anything like that between us? And why would I lie to you about it?" 

God. Nick _hates_ it when Lance is right. He frowns down at the floor and doesn't answer. 

"Nick. You and Howie were together for, like, _months_ , man." 

It's true. But it's also totally different. "It's not the same. It wasn't while we were... I mean. It's... it's just different." 

"It wasn't while we were together, you mean?" 

_Together._ They'd never said stuff like that, back then. But by last spring it had felt, it had started to feel like they were. To Nick, anyway. Then, to see Lance with Justin, like _that_... his pulse still spikes when he thinks of it. "Well, it wasn't. Besides, Howie is totally different from Justin." 

"How so?" 

_I wasn't laughing at you when I was with Howie_ , he thinks. Instead, he says lamely, "Well. You like Howie." 

"I don't _know_ Howie, Nick, not all that well." Lance sighs. "But dude. I respect that he's one of your best friends. All right? It's not like anything I could do would change that, even if I wanted to, even if I hated the guy. Do you see what I'm saying?" When he continues, his voice is lower. Almost intimate. "It's not like Howie--or Justin--has any effect on, y'know, how I feel about _you_." 

Nick shivers. That tone in Lance's voice, like it's _caressing_ him or something. God. Even in the middle of their worst fights, Lance's voice could get him going. Nick pulls himself back from that ledge as Lance starts to speak again, and thank God his voice is back to normal now. 

"Besides, I really do think you'd like Justin, if you ever got to know him better." 

Nick snorts. "Yeah. Once he stops laughing at me. And we spend some quality time together. Sure." Well, it's not like _that's_ very likely, is it? 

Lance doesn't answer right away. Finally, he says softly, "He's not laughing at you, Nick. _We're_ not... Jesus. Do you really think I'd...? Fuck, man." 

Shit. Oh, shit. Did he really say that out loud? He tries to think. Fast. Come up with something, _anything_ that doesn't make him sound so damn insecure. But he's got nothing. "Yeah, whatever," he tries, trying to make his voice sound casual despite the way his pulse is hammering in his throat. "You know, I don't really care what you do together." 

"Bullshit," Lance says. "At least come up with a better lie than that, because I _will_ laugh at you if you try that one again." 

Nick really can't think of what to say back to that, so he just closes his eyes and waits. He shouldn't have picked up the phone. That was Mistake #1. 

After a moment Lance sighs. "Listen," he says. "I'm sorry you still feel so uncomfortable about Justin." And even as Nick's skin crawls with the knowledge he's exposed himself this way, he's grateful; Lance isn't pushing it. He could, and he's not. Not right now, anyway, and Nick'll take that. "We were just going to a club last night. He called after, y'know, after you and I hung up, and there's this new place he wanted to check out, and I really haven't seen him much lately, he's so busy, so I figured, what the hell." 

Nick makes himself open his mouth. "It's okay." He tries to mean it. If Lance _were_ talking like this about Howie, it'd be... yeah. He takes a deep breath. "It's--I. I'm sorry. You're right. You don't have to, like, explain yourself. I can't--I don't expect you not to see him." It's not easy to say the words, but he feels a little calmer once he does. And he knows they're true; they have to be true. As long as 'Nsync's around--and probably even after it isn't--Justin's going to be part of Lance's world. He's got to deal with it, or walk away. Sooner rather than later. 

"We're just friends," Lance says. "I know I can't _make_ you believe that, but it's the truth." 

"I know," Nick says. "I mean, I believe--I'm..." He tries to make the words make sense, even to himself. "I believe you," he tries. "It's just. Hard. Thinking about you together." 

The phone line is quiet for a minute, and Nick can feel his heart beating, high in his chest. 

It's only honesty. It shouldn't be so scary. He can do this. He's changed. He can say what he wants, what he needs. And if Lance uses that against him, that's Lance's problem, not his. He tries to feel the truth of that, but mostly he ends up taking shallow breaths and waiting for Lance to say something. 

"I'm sorry," Lance says, finally. "I mean, not about last night. Not for spending time with one of my brothers." He doesn't have to emphasize the word; Nick gets the point. "But I _am_ sorry for the things that happened before. For makin' you feel like you still can't trust me." 

Nick presses his lips together. Closes his eyes. "I don't understand," he says. Tired, more than anything. "I mean, if it's just..." 

"Just what?" Lance asks, after a few seconds of silence. 

"You said." Nick tries not to think too much about the words. Just let them say themselves. "You said, you and me, we know each other. Better than most anybody else." 

"Yeah. Don't you think?" 

"But you know Justin even better. He knows _you_ better, that's for sure." Nick stops. Makes himself breathe. "So. Why wouldn't you... you know. Rather be with him." 

Lance doesn't answer right away. Finally, Nick hears him sigh. "It's not. That's not the only reason I called you, Nick. Come on." 

Nick feels a spike of frustration. "Well, it's what you said." 

"That's _one_ of the things I said. Jesus." Lance starts off sounding exasperated, but then his voice drops. "Is that what you think? I'm callin' because I can't find anyone else? Because, y'know, that's pretty insulting. To both of us." 

Nick closes his eyes, clenching the phone tighter. "I guess," he finally says, and he tries to put enough force behind it so it's not a whisper. 

"I, um," Lance continues. "I like _you_. I don't want, I've never wanted to be with Justin." 

Nick can't help the laugh, it pushes its way out of his throat before he knows it. "Never?" he asks, and he wishes he didn't sound bitter. 

Lance sighs. Nick can almost see him scrubbing his fingers through his hair. "Come on, man. Give me a break, here." 

Nick shrugs, knowing it's not an answer. But Lance doesn't wait for him to speak. 

"This thing between us isn't about me wanting Justin and not being able to have him. Take a little more credit for yourself, man." Lance's voice shifts to a warmer tone. "It's about me not being able to _stop_ thinking about _you_." 

Heat rises into Nick's face. He clears his throat. "That's. Um. Yeah?" 

Lance hums his assent, low in Nick's ear. "Ever since we had dinner last week. Even before that, just, y'know, hearing your voice on the phone. And now it's worse." 

Nick knows. It's worse for him, too. Now that he's seen Lance again. Touched him. "Yeah," he breathes. 

Lance seems to hesitate. "But Nick. I wasn't lying when I said it's not just about sex. I really wanna see if we can, you know. Have a normal relationship, or whatever you want to call it. As much as we can, anyway, with you there and me livin' here." 

Nick switches the phone to his other hand. Now's the perfect time to tell him, give him the news Nick was calling last night to share. He's not sure, though. It still smarts, hearing Lance partying with Justin, and Nick thinks about it, about how good it would feel to keep a little piece of himself back, to have control over that much, at least. 

But dammit. He wants to see Lance again, too. 

"Yeah," he finally answers. "That's, uh, what I was calling about last night. Actually." 

There's a second of silence, long enough for Nick to think about regretting his words, and then Lance says, "Really?" and the surprise in his voice is unmistakable. 

Nick coughs. "Yeah. Well, sorta." He's committed now, might as well spit it out. "My, for the movie. I've got meetings Monday, I'm flying out tomorrow." 

"You--what time? Where are you, how long will you be here?" 

Nick can't help grinning. Lance sounds so damn _happy_. So eager, not even trying to hide it. "I don't know," he says. "I mean, the meetings, probably a couple of days." 

"Uh-huh," Lance says. "And, tomorrow? What time tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow night," Nick says. Sheila'd put him on a dinnertime flight, giving him most of the day at home before he has to leave for the airport. Any other time, it'd be exactly what he wants. 

"Oh." Nick can see Lance's face, picture the deliberate acceptance of information he doesn't like but doesn't control. He hears Lance exhale. "Well..." 

Nick bites his lip. "I could," he says. "If you wanted. I could change it." 

"Yeah?" God, Lance's voice. "I, there's a party I'm supposed to go to tomorrow night, some charity thing at the Playboy Mansion, but if you got here earlier, we could get dinner first. And, y'know, we can't really do the red carpet together, but if you wanted to go, we could hang out once we're there." 

Bunnies and booze. What fun. But management'll probably be thrilled if he can get his picture on the wire services with some girls. Plus, Lance. Dinner with Lance, maybe order in, have some time alone before they have to go out and smile for the cameras. He only hesitates a second. "Okay." 

"Or--" Lance stops. "Really?" He laughs. "I thought--well, I mean. That'd be great! I, seriously, that'd be great. I miss you." 

_You didn't sound like you were missing me much last night._ He doesn't say it, though. He's not used to taking Lance at face value, but maybe. Maybe. "I'll call you?" Nick says. "When I know the new schedule, I mean. Or do you just want me to let you know when I get in?" He frowns. "And, um. You gonna get me on the guest list, or should I have my management..." 

Not that long ago, he wouldn't have had to worry about it. And even now, he could probably just walk up; it's not like Backstreet's been out of the news _that_ long. Still, he doesn't want to take a chance. Getting turned away at the door, that'd be perfect. 

"I'll take care of it," Lance is saying. "And yeah, call me when you know what flight you'll be on; they'll be sending a car for you, right? I mean, I'd come get you, but..." 

But they're still who they are. It's okay, Nick's okay with it. Most of the time, anyway. "Yeah, I'm cool. I'll be at the W, in Westwood, and I'll call you back with the rest of the info." He takes a breath, lets himself believe. "You want to have dinner there, get room service maybe?" 

Lance laughs. "You, a king-sized bed, and room service? Sounds like heaven. I just wish I didn't have to make an appearance at the party." 

Nick grins. "Well, bring a change of clothes. We can be fashionably late." 

*** 

_He first heard about Lance's space thing on the news. They hadn't spoken in a couple of weeks, but still, Nick figured it must've been in the planning stages a lot longer than that. He wasn't really surprised Lance hadn't told him, though. Kind of pissed, but not surprised._

_Karen was the only person he told about the dream. He knew better than to tell Lance. Even if he'd gotten through when he'd tried to call._

_She wasn't so sure. "Why not give him a chance? Maybe he'd be glad to hear that you're concerned about his safety."_

_Yeah, right._

*** 

_So much for making plans_ , Nick thinks, finally walking off the plane at pretty much the same time his original flight was scheduled to get in. Three hours on the runway is never a good way to start a trip, especially when the plane is full of kids returning home from spring break. He's not sure which were worse, the ones who were too cool for Backstreet and spent their time whispering and rolling their eyes, or the ones who thought flirting with him was a good way to pass the interminable time before takeoff. By the end of the flight, he'd signed autographs for enough "little sisters" to make up for any kind of break he might've had for the last week or two. 

At least the captain had relaxed the no-cell-phones rule long enough for him to get a quick phone call out to Lance. 

"Hey, man, we're still sitting on the runway." 

"Shit. Really?" Nick could hear the disappointment in Lance's voice. 

"Yeah. Thunderstorms in our flight path, or something," Nick said lightly. Glancing over his shoulder, he lowered his voice. "I'm really sorry, but I think I'm gonna miss dinner. And... you know. The other. Um. Rain check?" 

Lance chuckled on the other end of the line. "Literally, huh?" There was a pause. "Listen. If you get in in time, come on to the party. We can hang out there, and then grab a late dinner after. Or something." 

"Yeah," Nick grinned. "Or something." 

He didn't check any luggage, so he's in the car within ten minutes of landing. Still, it's close to 11 by the time the driver pulls up at the hotel. He makes short work of showering and changing, though, and they're at the Mansion before midnight. 

He poses and smiles for the cameras, grateful when his name is on the guest list in the right place, no delay. Inside, he smiles some more, like his agent would want, and then picks up a Corona and sets off to try to figure out where Lance might be in the milling swirls of people. He can't exactly ask, so he makes his way through the main rooms of the house, out to the pool, in again and around. Young Hollywood is out partying tonight, and he sees a few very recognizable faces among all the merely hopeful ones. He skirts around a sofa where Kid Rock's holding court and checks his phone. There aren't any new messages, and the signal's so bad he probably wouldn't be able to hear voicemail even if there were, so he figures he'll just keep looking. 

He's on his second beer, trying to politely extricate himself from an overly enthusiastic Bunny, when a familiar profile catches his eye. Not the one he wants to see, though. _Shit_. Nick's first instinct is to turn away, head for the men's room--or the door. Or hit something, of course, or some _one,_ but that's _really_ not an option. Fuck, why didn't Lance tell him Justin was going to be here? And where the hell is Lance, anyway? 

He takes a breath. He's not going to overreact, and he's not going to run. Not this time. Lance said... Lance said there was nothing going on, and he's got to trust Lance. Right? Besides, if anyone knows where Lance is, it'll be Justin, and Nick's really getting kind of sick of standing around looking pretty. He's not even sure what organization this party is for, and all he needs is to say the wrong thing to someone he doesn't realize is a reporter; that's not the kind of publicity he wants. So he takes a breath, tries to manage a realistic smile, and pats Candi on the arm as he excuses himself. "Hey, Justin," he says, and Justin turns, looking a little surprised when he sees Nick. 

"Hey, Nick." The official inter-band hug, closer than strangers, less close than with one of his own guys. "You're looking good. I didn't know you were in LA." 

"Just flew in today. Got business this week," and Justin nods. "So," Nick says, "Um. How's things, I mean, the tour, coming together, yeah?" 

"Yeah, good, man. Busy, y'know. And you, your tour? I hear it's a good show. You having fun?" Justin's smile looks a little forced, but whatever. Nick's not going to read between the lines. 

"Yeah. Lot of fun, it's great." This is so damn awkward. Did Lance talk to Justin about him, about them? There's no way to ask that. "Um, so. Is Lance, have you seen Lance? Tonight?" 

Justin looks around, like Lance might be underfoot somewhere. "No," he says, "I mean, he's supposed to be here, somewhere. But I haven't talked to him today. If he's around, I'll probably see him, you want me to tell him you're looking for him? Or," he adds before Nick can decide how to answer, "you could, we could just hang, y'know. Let him come to us." 

Nick blinks. That sounds... less than fun. But it's not like he has any better options. It beats being open season for the more ambitious girls floating around. Besides, maybe Lance is right. Maybe he just needs to give Justin a chance. It seems unlikely, but maybe he should give it a try. "Okay," he says, only a little bit slowly. "You, um, you're not with anyone--I mean, hanging out with anyone--" 

Justin chuckles. "Trace is around here somewhere, but I got held up at the red carpet and lost him. I guess I can settle for hangin' with a Backstreet Boy. For a while, anyway." Nick turns to glare at him, but Justin winks, and Nick manages to bite his tongue. _Give him a chance_ , he tells himself. 

A sofa opens up nearby as two Bunnies pull some lucky guy off to the dance floor--or somewhere--and Justin grabs Nick by the elbow and steers him over to it. "C'mon, man, let's get comfortable." Nick settles a little stiffly into the cushions, then takes a sip of his beer. Justin's gazing around the room, looking relaxed and amused. Nick wonders what on earth the two of them have to talk about. 

Justin seems happy to sit and nurse his drink. Nick shifts on the sofa, feeling the leather squeak under his thighs. He's trying to think of something to say that won't sound too lame or too nasty, when Justin surprises him by turning to him with a smile. "I've been thinkin' about you lately." 

Nick tries not to let his wariness show. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah, man, well, for one thing, I was doing all this promo in Germany, and that got me thinking about when we were first over there, you know?" 

"You mean, way back when?" 

Justin nods. "Remember how you and AJ tried to teach me and Lance German for the interviews?" 

"We didn't _speak_ German, dawg." Nick can't hide his grin. 

"Believe me, dude, I found that out. But damn, y'all knew enough to get us in trouble. Like, when that reporter practically ripped Lance's head off at that charity thing when he asked her if her tits were real?" 

Nick shakes his head. "I can't believe Lance was ever that gullible, man." 

Justin laughs. "I was fuckin' scared. She was bigger than either of us." 

Now Nick smirks openly. "Um. Sorry 'bout that." He dodges the halfhearted smack Justin aims at his head. 

"Yeah, I'll bet," Justin laughs. After a few moments, he speaks again, and this time his voice is thoughtful. "It was strange, though. To be over there alone, doing those same old TV shows. But you must know all about that." 

"Yeah," Nick replies, but doesn't take the topic farther. Well, this isn't how he expected this party to go, not at all. Lance is nowhere in sight, and Justin's making conversation. With him. Pretty damn weird. Nick checks his watch and is about to excuse himself to go see if his phone can get a signal anywhere outside, when Justin speaks again. 

"So you've been touring. How is it for you, doing your own thing?" 

"It's been fine. Good." Nick purses his lips. He _doesn't_ want to talk to Justin about this. Justin, whose guys probably cheered him on from the moment he said he was doing a solo record. Justin with his big album and his big name and his great big tour. Nick didn't want that kind of tour, he wanted a rock and roll show, didn't want to share top billing with anybody, and the crowds scream just as loud even though they're smaller--but still, Justin's the last person he wants to discuss this with. He can't think of anything else to say, though, so he just sits there. Fuckin' Lance. If he set this up, if this is his stupid idea of a good way to get Nick and Justin to be _friends_... 

Nick's so busy fuming that it takes him a second to catch up when he realizes Justin's speaking again. "...must be so cool, huh, playing clubs?" The words sound a little wistful, and when Justin looks at Nick expectantly, Nick manages a surprised nod. 

Justin leans back into the couch and takes a sip of his drink. "I've always wanted, I mean, I think it'd be great. To play those small venues, you know, intimate stuff, with the crowd right _there_ , lovin' it?" 

"It is, it's great," Nick answers truthfully, still trying to wrap his brain around the idea that Justin Timberlake is sitting there next to him, wishing for something that Nick already has. Because really, how often does that happen? 

"Yeah," Justin says, setting his jaw, "I'm gonna do it. I've gotta do the big arena thing, y'know, but I'm gonna figure out a way to do clubs too. It's not somethin' I could do with the guys, but alone I should be able to swing it, and I'm not gonna let the chance go by." 

Nick feels like he's in the twilight zone or something. He's afraid he's openly staring, but Justin doesn't seem to care. So Nick nods, and wonders if this conversation could get any stranger. 

"And now... you and Lance, huh? Again?" Justin's looking right at him now, smiling, and Nick almost drops his beer bottle. Justin laughs. "Sorry, man, is it a secret?" 

Nick sets his beer carefully on the floor beside the couch and steadies his hands against his knees. "Um. It's. I mean, I guess not?" 

"He didn't tell me, if that's what you're thinking. But, y'know, it's not that hard to figure out." Nick looks away, making sure nobody's within earshot. When he looks back, Justin lifts his eyebrows at him. 

"Dawg, you're freakin' me out," Nick finally responds. "This is... weird." 

Justin laughs. "What _isn't_ weird, these days, man?" But he shrugs. "I mean, okay. You mean, like, us talking about it? I guess that's kinda weird, yeah. But, y'know, why shouldn't we? Lance is..." Now it's Justin's turn to look around, then face Nick with another laugh that quickly turns serious. "He'd kick my ass if he heard me say this, but dude, you better not be fuckin' with him. I know, Lance can take care of himself and all, and I don't want to be all, y'know, Mafia or whatever, but seriously, don't mess with him. He's had a hard enough..." Justin stops, frowning a moment. 

Nick's curious as hell to know how Justin would finish that sentence, but he can't help himself. " _Me_ fucking with _him_? Excuse me, are we talking about the same--" he realizes his voice may be carrying more than he means it to, and reconsiders his next word, "--person here?" He lowers his voice further. "You'd know better than most, wouldn't you? I mean, okay, water under the bridge, whatever, but hello?" 

Justin doesn't _quite_ roll his eyes, so Nick doesn't _quite_ have to punch him. "Oh, man. Okay, that was--awkward, yeah, sorry about that, but hell, it didn't mean anything. It's not like--Lance and me--" Somehow Justin seems to keep his voice low without trying. Typical, Nick thinks. "It was, we were just foolin' around, y'know? It wasn't like. Serious." 

"Yeah, well." Nick picks up his bottle and takes a swallow of beer, if only to force himself to unclench his jaw for a second. "I still don't see how you get from that to _me_ playing _Lance_." 

Justin looks at him a moment, and Nick looks right back. Finally, Justin sighs. "Look. It's not my business. I'm sorry if I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Just," his hands flex, like that'll help him think or something. Big hands. "That was, like, a year ago," Justin concludes. "A lot has changed. Right? So, he's my friend, y'know. I don't want to see him hurt. That's all, I guess." 

Jesus. Is he on Candid Camera, or what? But Justin looks sincere. Nick clears his throat. "I'm not," he says. "I mean, I don't know. What's going on, really. Yet. But I'm not, it's not a joke." He takes a breath. Takes a chance. "And if it isn't to Lance, either, then... that's good. I think. Except, where the fuck is he, anyway?" 

Justin laughs, jostling his shoulder. "Who knows, man. Working, probably. I mean, if he knew you were gonna be here, he wouldn't've skipped out." 

"You think?" 

"Dude." Justin shakes his head. "Listen, he's already gonna bust my ass for talking to you this much, and like I said, it's not like he and I talked about this--you--but seriously, man. You've gotta get over this whole insecurity thing." 

Easy for Justin to say. Nick manages a smile, and snags a fresh beer off a passing waitress's tray. "Yeah, well," he says. "It's just." Just what? "New," he finally offers. "I guess we'll see what happens. If, y'know, he doesn't make a habit of stranding me at parties like this." 

"The booze is free, you're hangin' with J. Timberlake, and you're complaining. Man, I knew Backstreet was dumb, but..." Justin winks again, and Nick really can't do anything but laugh with him. It's not at all how he wanted to spend the evening, but yeah, it could probably be worse. 

*** 

_The Grammys, and Backstreet hit the red carpet ten steps behind 'Nsync. Nick was thankful he'd had a few extra drinks at the pre-party. He'd been careful not to sit next to AJ in the limo._

_Smiling for one more interview, Nick looked over Howie's head to where 'Nsync was standing, with their moms, for God's sake._

_Lance looked hot._

_He heard the word "Backstreet," and couldn't help himself. "'Nsync's talkin' junk," he said, loud enough to carry. "You want me to jump 'em?"_

_When his phone blinked "Lance" later that night, he was glad he hadn't made other plans._

*** 

Nick isn't sure how much time has passed, but he's killed another beer or two, and Justin's been carried off by his posse, leaving Nick to make small talk with some girl whose name he didn't catch, but a guest, at least, not a Bunny. And then, unexpectedly, Justin's there again, skillfully getting the girl to move off without being rude to her at all--a pretty impressive trick. Nick looks at him, a little confused, and then follows Justin's eye to where Lance is standing in the doorway, starting to make his way through the crowd. 

Just looking at Lance, Nick feels something inside him do a little flip, even while another part of him is wondering what the _fuck_ took Lance so long. Justin's saying something, but Nick's only listening with half an ear. Lance looks good, his crazy print shirt mostly unbuttoned, artfully faded jeans clinging low on his hips. He stops to greet the people who speak to him, exchanging kisses and handshakes, and Nick can see him smiling, but there's something about the set of his shoulders that looks tense, something in the angle of his chin that seems unyielding. Justin sees it too; Nick hears him mutter, "What the hell?" under his breath right as Lance reaches their sofa. 

"Hey, J. Nick." There's a storm brewing in Lance's eyes as he glances between the two of them, and he doesn't look a bit happy to see them together. _Guess this wasn't his idea_ , Nick thinks, as he stands up to give Lance a hug more businesslike than friendly. Justin hangs on a little longer, but Lance steps back first and looks over at Nick. 

"Sorry I'm late. Did you get my message?" He keeps his voice down, but Nick hears the tension in it. 

Nick fishes his phone out of his pocket. It hasn't rung all night. "No, man." He punches a button. "I'm not, the signal here sucks." He glances back up and shrugs. "Sorry." _Where the fuck have you been?_ he thinks, but doesn't say. Not in front of Justin. 

Lance's sigh is impatient. "Figures. Well, I tried, anyway. I didn't think I'd be so late, but I got a call unexpectedly, something I had to deal with." 

Justin's still standing beside Lance, concern evident on his face. "What's up?" he asks in a quiet voice, and Nick wishes he'd been the one to say it. 

"Just business," Lance answers, and his mouth twists. "You know how it goes." 

Nick can't help glancing at his watch, but he knows it's a mistake when he sees Lance's eyes on him, getting darker. "Yes, I _do_ know how late it is," Lance says, snipping each word off short, "and believe me, I would've much rather been here. Or really, anywhere else." He takes a sip of his drink, something clear over ice, and looks back over at Justin. "You guys having fun?" 

Justin glances at Nick and then back at Lance. "Sure. But you're not changing the subject that fast, man." He pulls Lance toward the sofa and Lance balks. "Come on. Talk to me. Us." 

Lance knocks back the rest of his drink and looks around the room, at all the guests sitting on low furniture, drinking and smoking, Bunnies hovering over them. "I'm not talking about this in here, okay?" His voice sounds brittle. 

Justin nods at the door leading to the patio. "Okay. Outside, then?" He doesn't wait for an answer before turning Lance towards the door. Glancing back over his shoulder, he shoots Nick a look that clearly says _Come on_. 

Nick feels stupid, trailing them out. Talk about a fifth wheel. He doesn't know how to do this. Nothing in what he's shared with Lance has prepared him for this, dealing with this kind of tension through any means other than fighting or storming out. Or fucking, of course, but that doesn't really seem like an option at the moment. 

It's chilly outside, and Nick wishes he'd hung on to his jacket, but Justin doesn't seem to notice. Laughter rings from inside the mansion as the door swings closed behind them, and Justin walks Lance across the patio and around to the other side of the pool, blue water glowing like a giant nightlight in the darkness. Nick follows, hanging back a little. Really, he thinks, maybe it would be better if he just left them to it. 

"What?" Lance snaps, when Justin stops at the edge of the garden. 

"Dude," Justin says. "Chill. Nobody's--" he glances at Nick. "We're on your side, y'know? You don't have to bite our heads off." Exactly when Justin and Nick became _we_ Nick isn't sure, but he nods anyway. 

"Fuck." Lance shakes his head, sighing, and Nick can see a little bit of the tension leave him, just from Justin's mild reproach. "I just--I really didn't need this." 

Whether "this" is the party, the call, Nick, or something completely different, Nick can't tell, and he's sure as hell not going to ask. Justin's hand is on Lance's shoulder now, shaking him companionably, and Lance is starting to smile. Which is good, really, except damn, it should be Nick helping him relax, making him feel better. He wants to step forward, touch Lance too, and he wants to leave, turn on his heel and get the hell out of there. Leave the two of them, with their easy understanding and their years of trust, and go back to somewhere _he_ understands. Somewhere he fits in. 

"Okay," Justin says, his voice soft, like he's gentling an animal, and if Nick talked to Lance like that he thinks Lance would probably deck him. Or laugh. "C'mon, we're all friends here, get it out. What's fucked up now?" 

Lance glares at him, but it's weak, and after a second he laughs softly. "Okay. Okay." His eyes flick from Justin to Nick. "I _am_ sorry," he says. "I meant to be here earlier. I just, I got a call from Moscow, and I had to... It's stupid, I know, it's not like I'm gonna get to go anytime soon now, but I still, I keep thinking if I just do everything right..." He trails off, and Nick swallows hard. Maybe it's just because Lance is tired; maybe it's because Justin's arm is around his shoulders, but Lance's expression is so open, his pain so evident. This is real, and it's something Nick hasn't seen before, and he's not sure how to feel about that. Which, when he thinks about it, pretty much describes this whole evening. 

"You _did_ do everything right," Justin's saying, and yeah, duh, it would've been nice if Nick had said that, except how would he know? It's not like he and Lance were talking at the time. "You jumped through every damn hoop they had, and there was no way you could've done that _and_ handled the money stuff at the same time." 

Lance's lips flatten. "Thanks, J," he says. "I know you're tryin' to help, but if I'd _picked better people_ to handle the money stuff..." 

Justin sighs. "You did your best." 

"And it wasn't good enough," Lance says, and even Nick can hear the _**I** wasn't good enough_ in his voice. "So, yeah, thanks for the support, and I appreciate it, but it's fucked and _I'm_ fucked and can we just pretend we've already had this conversation a dozen times, because, guess what? We have. And I know you don't want to say it out loud, but we both know that if this was me talkin' to you, you wouldn't put up with this 'you did your best' crap. You'd've made it happen, somehow, and, fuck, I want to be able to do that, too." 

Justin doesn't say anything, just looks down at his shoes, and after a moment Lance nods. "Yeah. Exactly." He looks at Nick with a smile that has absolutely no joy in it. "I'm sure you're wishin' you'd stayed home," he says. "Sorry the floor show isn't exactly what we had planned." 

He's right, of course, in a way. And the hell of it is, there's really not much Nick can do to try to make it better. He can't touch Lance, not in public, not the way Justin can. Not without having a damn good story for the press, anyway. And seeing, hearing, _feeling_ how much closer, more intimate, Lance and Justin are than he and Lance are isn't exactly comforting. "Nah," he says, wanting to try, at least. "I mean--I'm sorry things seem so shitty right now. That sucks. But, y'know, not your fault." 

Lance dips his head in a move that looks more like self-protection than agreement. "They just. It's like they dick me around on purpose. Like it's funny, how much I want this. Fuck. I know it's business hours over there right now, but they know it's _not_ , here, too." He bares his teeth. "Anything else and I _wouldn't_ take it. But..." 

"I know," Nick says quietly as he trails off. "I don't blame you." Nick glances at the house and takes a chance that Justin's shielding him from prying eyes. He reaches out, only a little tentative, and puts a hand on Lance's shoulder. "It's nothing to apologize for." 

Lance nods his thanks, and leans into Nick's touch for an instant before pulling away. 

Nick wants to yell at someone, punch something, and he's not even sure why. Maybe it's the way Lance looks, defeated or something, like Nick doesn't remember ever seeing before. Maybe it's finally seeing what it did to Lance, trying and failing, while everyone back home was laughing like he was a big joke. Or the way Nick aches to hold him, tell him things will be okay, and he can't, for too many reasons. 

Justin shoots Nick a meaningful look and does something ridiculous with his eyebrows. He seems to be trying to get Nick to do something, say something. Damned if Nick knows how to read these wacked-out secret 'Nsync messages, though, and that's one more thing to hate about this whole situation. He _really_ needs to get out of here. 

"Listen, guys," Nick begins, ignoring Justin's nod of encouragement, "I'm gonna, I need to take off. I've got meetings in the morning." He considers for a second, and then takes a deep breath and decides to risk getting turned down in front of Justin. "Lance, do you, um. Do you still wanna come with?" 

Lance looks back up at him, eyebrows rising in obvious surprise. He glances over at Justin before he answers, and Nick feels it like a slap. "What? Tonight?" 

_Shoulda known better_ , Nick thinks, starting to back away before Lance can get a good look at his face. "Nah, man, I figured you weren't... Just thought I'd ask." He avoids looking at Justin as he turns away. "Okay, um. You guys have a good night. See you around." 

He turns and heads back to the door, long strides, hoping that his driver's not too far away and he can get out fast. Before he's halfway around the pool, though, he hears Lance call, "Nick, wait," He doesn't slow down, but hurried footsteps catch up to him as he reaches the house. 

"Nick, come on." Lance's voice is resigned, and Nick can't ignore him any more than he ever could. He sighs as he turns. At least Lance is alone. 

"What?" 

"I just. I'm not really in the--I mean--I'm such a downer tonight." Lance's voice is tight, and Nick feels his own hackles rise. "I just kinda want to go home and sleep. Let's just... can I call you tomorrow?" 

"That's fine, Lance," Nick replies, trying to keep his voice steady. "I wasn't sayin' we should go _fuck_ , you know." 

Lance looks taken aback. "No, that's not..." 

"I was just hopin' I could do, you know. Something to make things better instead of worse." Nick tells himself to shut up, _don't show him how much it hurts_ , but his mouth doesn't seem to be listening to his brain. "But I guess some things haven't really changed all that much." 

"Nick." Lance shakes his head. "I'm fuckin' _tired_ , okay?" 

"Right," Nick says. "You're tired, and Justin can make that better, and I can't. You've made that pretty clear." Nick takes a breath. "Whatever, man. It don't matter. Just go do what you need to do, and we'll talk later." 

Lance looks at him another second, and Nick almost thinks he's going to say something more, but then Lance nods. "Okay." He does sound tired, of course he's tired, but still, _fuck_... "Yeah, that's better, we'll both--I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" 

"Sure. That's great. Fine." Nick's all out of polite. Lance isn't the only one who's tired, but nobody seems to be too concerned about that. Nick glances at the building in front of him, the gauntlet he'll have to run before he can get out, get away. "See ya," he says, and opens the door to go inside. Lance doesn't try to stop him. 

Thankfully, there's a men's room near the entrance, so he uses that as an excuse for his urgency in heading toward the front, and then manages to get outside without being buttonholed by anyone he can't shrug off. 

In the car he leans his head back, eyes closed tight until they stop stinging. _It's just reality_ , he tells himself. _Deal with it_. Still, it's a few minutes before he can breathe easily again. 

His phone service comes back a few blocks from the hotel. Three new messages. The first one's his agent, confirming the time and place for tomorrow's meeting. Nick makes a mental note of the time and figures the driver can take care of the rest. It's somewhere close, he knows that; he's gotten stuck in LA traffic enough times that he's learned to have whoever's making the arrangements pick a hotel near wherever he'll be working. 

He saves the message, just in case, and the next one starts. Nick hits 7 to erase it as soon as Lance's name is announced. He got that message loud and clear already. 

Last is Kevin, and Nick feels a little of the tension leave his shoulders just hearing the familiar hello. "So, I hear you're in town, and you haven't called," Kevin drawls, affection clear even in his reproach. "I'll forgive you, but only if you come for dinner tomorrow. Kristin's cooking, so if you say no you'll be insulting her. You should be done with your meetings by six, right? So we'll plan dinner for seven, and if you've forgotten how to get here, call me and I'll kick your ass. See you tomorrow. Dream sweet." 

Nick finds his throat tightening with how good it feels to have Kevin tease him like that again. It's too late to call back tonight, but he'll call in the morning, for sure. And he'll be there at seven if he has to walk out in the middle of negotiations to do it. Maybe this is what he's been missing, what he's been trying--unsuccessfully--to get from Lance. 

Up in his room he considers ordering dinner; he never eats much on planes and he's going to be ravenous in the morning. But it seems like too much trouble. In the end he grabs some cashews from the mini-bar and an apple from the fruit bowl, then munches them as he strips. 

He tries not to think about Lance, the misery in his voice when he talked about the Russians, the look on his face later as Nick turned away, but it's hard. He realizes, now, that he was actually letting himself hope, and didn't he learn that lesson a long time ago? _Stupid_ , he thinks, glad that at least now he's got other plans for tomorrow night. Maybe it's the easy way out, but nobody ever accused him of being deep. 

When he climbs into the bed he worries a little that he might not be able to get to sleep, but only until his head hits the pillow and he turns unconscious. 

*** 

_Nick didn't really want to talk about his mom in therapy. She just sort of kept coming up._

_"When you call yourself stupid," Karen asked, "whose voice do you hear saying it?"_

_"Lance's." That one was easy._

_"Did he say that to you a lot?"_

_Nick shrugged. "I guess we both did. Like, sparring with each other." He thought another moment. "I might've started it, actually, back at the beginning. But, y'know. It never really seemed to bug him that much."_

_"But it bothered you," she said. "Tell me, Nick. When Lance said that--early on--did it sound familiar?"_

*** 

By the time he gets to Kevin's the next evening, he's wondering why he ever agreed to come. He had to end his meeting early to leave, and then he got stuck in traffic and spent an hour sitting on the 405, so he's late anyway. He thought about calling Lance back, but after how well their lunchtime call _didn't_ go, he thinks it's probably better if they don't talk again just yet. 

Lance had started with an apology, but he'd seemed a little pissed when Nick said he had plans with Kevin. "So is this, y'know, payback for last night?" Lance finally asked, after ten seconds or so of what Nick could only imagine was pouting. 

Nick was actually surprised. He hadn't been thinking of it like that, not at all, and at first he felt a spark of anger. But he took a breath before replying; he didn't want to start a fight, and while it wasn't payback, it was true that if he and Lance had been together last night, he might not have been as eager to see Kevin on this trip. "Nah, man," he finally said. "I just want to see my bro, is all, and we're not in the same place that much anymore. You know. And really, dawg. Um." He'd been thinking it; he might as well say it. "Maybe it's better. Maybe we--you and me--need to, you know, slow things down a little. Or something." 

Lance hadn't responded right away, and when he had, he had sounded hurt. Which made two of them, really. "Slow things down?" 

"It's just, like. You're stressed, I'm stressed, it just ain't the best time for us to try to get it together. You know?" Or, more like, Lance is stressed, and Nick is stressed about not knowing how to help. The thing with Justin the night before just drove it all home to Nick. 

Lance didn't sound happy, but he didn't argue the point, either, and in the end they'd hung up with nebulous plans to talk again sometime after Nick was back in Florida. It's disappointing, considering what they'd been planning before the trip, and Nick has to admit he was hoping Lance _would_ argue, that they could sort things out now rather than later--or never--but he didn't, and they didn't, and as Nick finally makes the turn into Kevin's driveway he pushes it out of his mind. 

Kevin and Kristin live in a quiet neighborhood up in the canyons, not ostentatious, but luxurious in an understated way. From what Nick's heard, Kevin's been hibernating since his run in Chicago ended. Rejuvenating, he probably calls it. Nick feels a brief wave of anxiety as he shuts off the engine and sets the parking brake, but it disappears as Kevin walks out onto the porch. 

As Nick climbs up the steps to the house, Kevin meets him halfway with a hug. "Welcome." He pulls back a little and smiles at Nick. "I'm glad you're here." 

"Thanks, man," Nick replies, still holding on. "Me too." And it's true. 

Kristin greets him inside the front door with a kiss, and then brings him a glass of iced tea as he and Kevin settle into low-slung chairs on the patio in back. "It'll be too cool to sit here much longer, but let's enjoy it while we can," Kevin says, sipping his tea. Darkness is falling, and Nick looks up at the sky. It seems different, out here. The stars don't seem as real to him as they do back in Florida. 

"So how was your day?" Kevin asks, and Nick knows the interest is sincere. 

Nick blows his hair from his forehead. "Long. Busy. All these meetings, man. I don't know how Lan--um. How people stand it." He takes a sip of his tea. "Nothing can ever be simple, you know? There have to be fifty people involved in every decision." Kevin's nodding. "Was it like that when you did _Chicago_?" 

Kevin purses his lips. "Well, I don't know," he says. "The way you talk, someone'd think you'd never mounted a tour yourself." He raises an eyebrow and Nick has to smile. 

"Okay. Maybe I'm exaggerating," he admits. 

"So," Kevin says, "what's so different now? Is it that you're not sure about the acting? Is it doing it on your own instead of with us? Or..." 

Or. Well, it's partly that. The doing it alone. And it's partly Lance, and Nick doesn't want to talk about that part. He's never been able to outwait Kevin, but that doesn't stop him from giving it a try. He sips his tea, and looks out at the city falling away below them, and wonders how much Kevin and Howie have been talking lately. 

In the end, he's saved--at least temporarily--by Kristin, poking her head out the door to say dinner really will be overcooked if they don't eat soon. Kevin gives Nick an amused smile as they head inside, and Nick knows he's off the hook for a while. 

After Nick's been talked into dessert, though, Kristin refuses his offers to help clear the table and sends him and Kevin out to the living room. "He's been giving me the evil eye for half an hour already," she says to Nick, laughing. "So whatever it is, you might as well tell him. You know how he is." 

And he does know how Kevin is, and _she_ does too, and it's that, Nick realizes--that knowledge, that easy intimacy--that he wanted with Lance. He looks back over his shoulder toward the kitchen as he and Kevin settle into the two big easy chairs by the windows. "How'd a smart lady like her end up with you?" he asks, shaking his head. 

"Just lucky, I guess," Kevin replies, and the chairs are set too far apart for Nick's reflexive kick to land. 

They settle, then, Kevin sipping his coffee, looking out the window into the dark. Expectant, even if he's not watching Nick. 

Nick sighs, trying to figure out how to go about this. "How do you know?" he finally asks. "How do you know when someone's right? Or, y'know, when they're not?" 

Kevin tilts his head, thinking, but Nick interrupts before he can answer. "Or, okay. Maybe," Nick says, "Maybe what I really want to know is, how do you get to." He sighs, trying to put his question into words. "You and Kristin, you went, like, twenty rounds before you finally got hitched. But even when we were on the road, even when you spent most of the time on the phone fighting--" The guys probably hadn't heard everything; Kevin was pretty good about keeping his voice down, but still, when things were bad, they'd heard enough. "You just kept working it out. One way or another. And now, it's like, you're... solid. And there's no question about it." 

Kevin sets his coffee cup on the floor and leans back in his chair, frowning a little at his templed fingers. After a moment he looks up. "Well. We're committed to each other. But we're not perfect," he says. "We still fight, sometimes." 

Nick's not really surprised to hear that. Kevin's one of the stubbornest people he's ever known, and in Kristin, he found someone as stubborn as himself. _Just what he needed_ , Nick thinks. "But when you fight, it's not, I mean, you both know, right, that things are gonna... be okay?" 

Kevin grins a little. "Come on, Nick. You don't need me to tell you about trust. It's like with us, with you and me and the rest of the fellas. When we fight, we can be mad as all get-out right then--and you've probably gotten more than your share of that recently--but deep down, we all know that we'll get through it, right? At the end of the day, we're still brothers." 

Nick looks at his hands and thinks about his conversation with Lance that night in the car. The icy, businesslike "discussions" he and the fellas were having for a while hurt worse than good old-fashioned yelling. But he gets what Kevin's saying. 

When he looks up, Kevin's still waiting for an answer. "Yeah, I guess I do know that. With us." He thinks about it more. "But was it always like that with Kristin? Because you guys broke up a couple times, too." 

Kevin glances back at the door to the kitchen. Nick can hear Kristin loading the dishwasher. "We did. But that's been... six years, now?" He shrugs, then smiles. "I was only twenty when we met, you know? So it's not like it happened overnight. In the end, we figured out that we were just... good for each other, I guess." 

Nick nods. He's known Lance seven years. He thinks they've both changed a lot. Whether you could say they're good for each other is a completely different question. And why he's even wondering this when he just told Lance that they should slow things down--break them off, really, even if he didn't say the words--he doesn't know. But he is. 

"Nick." Kevin's looking at him now, like he always could, like he's understanding so much more than Nick's saying. "Is... do you think the person you're thinking about might be wondering some of the same things?" 

Nick thinks about that. "Maybe," he finally answers. "It's not like he's really--it's not like we can talk about this." 

"Hmm." The noise is non-committal, and Nick knows Kevin well enough to expect his next question. "Why not?" 

Nick bristles a little. "We just can't. It's not, I mean, okay. Maybe I trust him, but I don't know, I'm not sure, and... Do you even know who we're talking about?" 

Kevin doesn't take the bait. "I know who _I'm_ talking about, Nick. You've changed a lot in the last year. Why couldn't you talk about it? You're talking to me." 

Nick shrugs and sinks lower into his chair, his legs crossed in front of him. "I dunno. It's not the same. It's not like with you and Kristin." He frowns. "You guys were, like, made for each other. Some shit like that." 

Kevin's laughter makes him jump. "Sure, Nick," he says, and then raises his voice, leaning his head back on the chair. "Honey! Can you come in here a second?" 

Kristin walks in, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. It's funny, Nick thinks, how some people try so hard to look good, and other people can look beautiful just doing something as everyday as that. 

Kristin smiles at Nick. "Is he bugging you?" 

Nick grins back. "No more than usual." 

Kristin half-sits on the arm of Kevin's chair and reaches over to push his hair out of his eyes. "What's up?" 

Kevin's stopped laughing, but his eyes are still twinkling. "Nick has a question for you." He pauses, then says slowly and clearly, "Would you say that you and I were--ahem--'made for each other'?" 

Kristen looks shocked for a second, and then she throws her head back and laughs almost as loudly as Kevin did. She turns to Nick with a smile. "Oh, Nick. I really hope not. Unless it's somebody's idea of a cosmic joke." She's still smiling when she looks back at Kevin. "I'm sure I was made for someone a lot easier to get along with than this cranky old man," she says tenderly, and Nick sees that it's an old joke with them. 

"You had your chance to get away," Kevin replies, smiling up at her. "Twice, actually." He reaches up and grabs her hand, pulling her towards him. 

"I guess I can only plead temporary insanity," she answers briskly, hopping off the arm of the chair before Kevin can pull her into his lap. She leans over and gives him a peck on the cheek before heading back into the kitchen. "It would've been so much easier if I'd married that nice accountant..." 

"So much more _boring_ , you mean," Kevin calls after her, then raises an eyebrow at Nick. 

Nick shakes his head. "Whatever, man," he mumbles. It really only goes to prove what he was saying. Maybe they fight, maybe it's not the most peaceful relationship all the time, but from the outside it's obvious that they're perfect together. Kevin meant it to be a joke, of course, or some lesson or something, but what it feels like is one more sign saying that Nick and Lance could never really be happy together. Nick's surprised at how bad that actually feels. _Shit._

But Kevin's not done yet. "Nick. Hey." When Nick looks up, he's serious again. "I don't mean to make fun of how you're feeling. I think sometimes, because you were so young when we started out... I think it's harder for you, and AJ too, maybe, to trust people outside the group. But at a certain point, you've got to be able to go beyond us. You know?" Kevin sighs. "I wish I could've made things different for you. But I still don't know how else it could've gone." 

Nick recognizes the defeat in Kevin's voice. He feels that way about Aaron, sometimes. His eyes prick and he turns away from Kevin for a minute. "Thanks, man," he finally replies. He stares at his knee until his eyes start to feel normal again. "But I don't know. If you knew everything, you might be telling me to run the other direction, instead." 

"Come on, Nick," Kevin says, and Nick turns back to face him. "I was hoping you'd tell me on your own. But let's stop dancing around this. I do speak to Howie from time to time, you know." 

Nick laughs awkwardly. Yeah. He should have known, really. And still it feels like he's been... caught, somehow. The hairs on his arms lift; adrenaline reaction, fight or flight, but neither one will work here, so he takes a careful breath and tries to figure out what to say next. "Oh," is all he comes up with. 

Kevin lifts his hand from the arm of his chair, a gesture that's not quite reaching out, and Nick wonders if maybe he's not the only one who feels uncomfortable like this. Apart. But they can't very well curl up on the sofa together, not when there are only two of them and way more furniture than they could cover even if they tried. "So... you want to talk about it?" Kevin asks. 

Nick shrugs, some of the tension easing. "I thought we'd already settled that I didn't have a choice." 

"You don't," Kevin says, smiling. "I was just trying to be polite." 

Nick snorts softly, but he knows Kevin's serious. "Okay," he says. "Well... you've talked to Howie. What do you need me to tell you?" 

"Well," Kevin says, "Why don't we start with, why do you think I'd be telling you to run?" 

Nick rolls his eyes. "Why _wouldn't_ you be telling me to run? Damn, it's not like we haven't been around this block enough times. I don't think you've suddenly developed some weird urge to see me miserable, so--" 

Kevin nods. "No. I haven't. And I can't say I was thrilled when Howie told me you and Lance were talking again. But, as you say, you've been around this block before." He pauses, looking at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts. "You've grown a lot this past year. Well, _kept_ growing. So, if you're back with him, there must be a reason." 

"Plain stupidity isn't reason enough?" 

Kevin just _looks_ at him for a moment. "Nick, when are you going to stop calling yourself stupid?" 

Nick can't help but sigh. Kevin doesn't let him get away with _anything_. But really, for all he doesn't want to talk about it, he does, too. He wants... something. Guidance. Validation. An _answer_ , for God's sake. 

"I don't know," he finally says. "I wasn't going to. When he first called, I told him no... I tried to, anyway." 

"And..." 

"And he... kept trying. He sounded like--he said he wanted it to be different this time. He sounded different." He did. He does. Even last night, on the phone today, it still--it wasn't the old Lance. They hadn't communicated very well, but Lance hadn't been... mean. Not the way he used to be. 

"Okay, so he wants it to be different. That sounds like a step in the right direction," Kevin says. "So..." 

"So, I don't know. It's _hard!_ It's--I keep thinking, I keep thinking maybe, maybe we could--but then, we'll... not connect." Like today. Like last night. 

"And what happens then?" 

"I don't know. I don't know what to do!" Nick slaps his hand down on the arm of the chair. "For Christ's sake, I've known him since I was sixteen. If we can't--if he can't talk to me by now, when is he ever gonna?" 

Kevin tilts his head. "Seems to me a little while ago you were saying _you_ couldn't talk to _him_. Which is it?" 

Nick scowls. Why does Kevin have to remember every word he says? "It's not. I mean, he does, he tries to talk to me. I think. Like, more than he used to, that's for sure." That's not exactly the problem, though, and Nick's not sure he can really say what is. 

"But..." Kevin prompts, when Nick doesn't finish. "You don't believe what he's saying?" 

Nick shrugs. "It's not that, really." He sighs. "It's like, okay. Last night, right? We had plans, here in LA. It didn't work out, though, Lance got a call from Russia, Moscow, whatever. So I'm waiting for him at this party, see..." 

"Wait," Kevin interrupts, "is he still going to space?" 

Nick glances up, surprised. Why would Kevin care? "He's still tryin', yeah." Kevin lifts his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything, so Nick continues. "Anyway, I was at the Playboy Mansion, and Justin was there. Like, wouldn't let go of me all night, wanted to share his feelings or whatever, talking and shit. Which was fuckin' _weird_ , but whatever. So finally Lance shows up, really late, and when he gets there he's in the worst mood. And I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to make him feel better or anything. I felt like I was just making it worse." 

"Did the two of you fight?" 

"Not exactly. It's just, you know. Justin talked to him for two minutes and he was--well, not okay. But better." Nick still thinks that if he'd talked to Lance like Justin did, Lance would've laughed at him. Or pushed him into the pool. "I don't know how to _do_ that." 

Kevin leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees. He nods at Nick. "Well, that kind of thing, knowing what to say when someone's upset, it takes practice. And, right now at least, Justin's had more practice with Lance than you have." 

Nick can't help snorting. No matter what Justin said last night, somehow, that's not the most reassuring thought in the world. 

Kevin looks at him. "Is that something that's worrying you? That Lance and Justin might..." 

Nick shakes his head automatically. "No. Yes. I don't know. Maybe." 

Kevin waits, and Nick makes himself think about it. 

"No," he finally says. "I mean--I guess, maybe it's kind of a habit to worry, but I don't think, I don't think they. Justin said they weren't..." 

Kevin's eyebrows go up. " _Justin_ said?" 

Nick sighs. "Yeah. I mean, he kinda." It's funny, really. "He was all, _Don't play my friend_." 

Kevin gives that a small smile, but he's still looking at Nick, hard. "What about Lance," he asks. "Has Lance said anything about it?" 

Nick nods. "He said it was a mistake. He said... he said he was sorry." Nick hesitates. "He said he should have, something. Valued me more," he finishes, quietly. 

Kevin's quiet too, for a minute, and Nick finds himself half holding his breath. "He should have," Kevin finally says. "Good for him for admitting it. So... that's a change, right?" 

Nick nods. 

"And you think he's sincere..." 

"Yeah. I think so." 

"If you think so, you may be right," Kevin says. "It sure doesn't sound like you're making a lot of excuses for him right now." 

Nick chuckles at that. Kevin has a point there. "Nah, I guess not. But, like, is him being sincere, is that enough?" 

"Well," Kevin says. "He's got to act it, too, walk the walk or whatever. But I guess the question is, what all does that involve? What kind of relationship are you guys talking about?" 

"We're not," Nick says. "Talking, I mean. About that, about--I don't know. I don't _know_. What if we get together again, and then he..." 

"What if he cheats?" 

Exactly. "Yeah." Nick closes his eyes. He doesn't want it. Doesn't want to hurt like that again. Like that, or worse, because he knows better, he knows not to fall for it again. 

"Do you think he might? I mean, you said Justin and him aren't, but there are other guys in the world..." 

Nick takes a breath. Other guys didn't matter so much before, and he's not sure why that seems to have changed, but now... "I don't know. I..." He tries to think about it. _Makes_ himself think about it. "I don't think so. I mean, he seems serious. About making it work." 

Kevin nods. "Okay, so we're back to that. Making _what_ work? What do you think he wants? And, really--what do _you_ want?" 

"What do you mean, what do I want? I want him to not cheat on me. I want him to not make me look like an idiot, not make me feel like shit..." 

"So you want to be exclusive?" 

Nick nods. Well, yeah. Despite what he was saying to Lance a few hours earlier, yeah, if he could have what he wanted, that's what he wants. 

Kevin looks at him. "And are you willing to give him the same thing?" 

Nick stares back. " _What?_ " 

"Well, are you? No more groupies, no more partying until the bar closes and then going home with that roadie or," a pointed look, "guitarist," and Nick feels his face heat. 

"It isn't--it wasn't--" 

Kevin shakes his head. "I'm not criticizing you, Nick. You're single, you should do what you want. I'm just saying, if you want Lance to make a commitment to you, you have to be willing to give the same to him." 

"Well, yeah, but--" 

Kevin's silent again, and sure enough, Nick can't think of anything to follow that "but" that doesn't sound totally stupid. Nick runs a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what to say. What to think. "I guess," he finally says, "I guess I need to think about that. I mean. I don't, I haven't..." He hasn't seen Dwayne since the last show, and they hadn't hooked up since... he can't remember. Phoenix? He thinks it was Phoenix. 

But it's not Dwayne specifically, he knows that. "That's a big step," he says, and Kevin nods. 

"I'm not saying that's what you have to do, Nick. I just want you to be happy. And trust me, if Lance messes with you, he'll have to answer to me and the rest of the fellas." 

Nick smiles. It's good to have brothers. Kevin continues, "But I think," then pauses, looking for the right words, as always. "I think for you to be happy, you have to really know what it is you're looking for. Monogamy is hard work, especially when you're not with your partner all the time. It's _worth_ the hard work, you know I believe that. But it has to be what both of you want. If it's not, then you're setting yourself up for... you're setting yourself up." 

*** 

_Freddy wasn't around, JC'd said. Nick hadn't considered that Lance might be with somebody else. Certainly not that that somebody might be Justin._

_Nick had thought they were getting more serious, but he knew they weren't exclusive or anything. As he blindly shoved his way back to the garage, he couldn't figure out exactly why he was so furious._

_Back in his own hotel, he turned up the TV so he wouldn't hear his cell. Instead he looked at the display every few minutes, but it never changed._

_He wouldn't have answered anyway. Wouldn't have listened to a message. Probably._

*** 

The flight back to Florida's quiet, and Nick is grateful. His seatmate is engrossed in some business report and Nick can sit back with his headphones in and relax. 

Well, _relax_ may be a little optimistic. But _think_ , at least. 

With _Tommy_ as a soundtrack, and brilliant blue fading rapidly to black outside the window, he tries to figure out what he should do next. What he should be thinking. What he should be wanting. 

He's still surprised that Kevin was so... encouraging, he guesses would be the right word. And he can't help wondering if that's because he, Nick, engineered it that way. If he was being too optimistic in the way he was describing things. He doesn't _think_ he was, but sometimes it's so hard to tell. 

But now, in addition to second-guessing what Lance wants, he has to add the other side of things into the equation. _Gee, thanks, Kev_ , he thinks, even though he knows Kevin's right. It's better to figure this stuff out now, and maybe it's a good thing after all that he and Lance won't be seeing each other for a while. 

Of course he wants Lance. He's finally admitted that much to himself, at least. But does he want... what that means? 

It was easier before. When he could blame everything on Lance, sit around feeling angry and wounded and betrayed. But maybe it wasn't really as one-sided as all that. 

He wouldn't deny that he did his share of fooling around too. But he always thought, well, Lance was never serious to begin with, so what Nick did didn't really matter. It was all just payback, something like that. And he's still not so sure that wasn't true, but... but all that history they have, they've gotta get past that if they're going to... 

If they're going to. 

Which brings him back to where he started. What the fuck does he want? Does he want to be, like, married? That's crazy. 

Well, maybe not married. He doesn't have to worry about forever, there's no law that says they can't be... exclusive, whatever, and then later, if they get tired of it, move on. That doesn't seem quite as overwhelming. 

Except that the idea of Lance "moving on" makes him want to puke. 

_Grow up_ , he tells himself. That's life, right? People change. Relationships change. Look at AJ and Sarah. 

Look at Kevin and Kristin. 

The CD ends and he puts the next disc in; looks at his watch. Not even halfway there yet. He usually sleeps on planes, but he's not sleepy today, even though he wishes he could shut his mind off. He thinks about asking the attendant for a drink, but he's pretty sure he wouldn't stop at one or two, so he figures it's probably better not to start. 

Seeing Kevin was good, anyway. That much he can feel sure of. Things feel right between them again. Time heals all wounds, or something. Whatever the reason, he's grateful. Even if everything else in his life is up in the air, the fellas are still there. For better or worse. Richer or poorer, he thinks, snorting softly, and maybe he shoulda tried harder with Howie. At least that's a relationship he knows is gonna last. 

*** 

_Nobody'd've blamed Howie for saying "I told you so." Not even Nick--hell, Nick figured Howie was the one person who really **should've** said it. _

_He didn't, though. He just called more, and didn't take "fine" for an answer. When he was in town, he took Nick out for dinner, or just showed up to hang out. He made sure he was in town pretty often._

_Nick wasn't heartbroken. He just felt like an idiot. When he was with Howie, they didn't talk about Lance. They talked about Nick's tour, or the DLF, and Howie'd hug him extra-tight before leaving._

*** 

If the pace was slow before Nick left Florida, when he gets back it's the total opposite. His next tour dates are right around the corner, and the Super Boat deal is picking up so his dad is asking for input that Nick's glad to give. Aaron's back home, too, so there are people everywhere in the compound, day and night. Jane's got Aaron on a tight publicity schedule, but still, he manages to slip down to Nick's house the evening after Nick gets home. 

Aaron comes in like a whirlwind, like he always does, and he grabs Nick just inside the kitchen door with a whoop of joy. "Wassup, bro?" Aaron yells in his ear, long arms wrapping around Nick's shoulders. Even longer arms than Nick remembers. It's hard to believe it's only been a few weeks since they've seen each other. 

"Are you taller? You are! You're taller!" Nick struggles to step back, to get a good look at his little brother, not so little anymore. 

Aaron's grinning when Nick breaks away, and he stands up to his full height. "Yep. I grew two inches since they fit my wardrobe in December." He's within a couple of inches of Nick, now. "I'ma be taller than you soon." His devilish grin shows how pleased he is to deliver the news. 

Clearly, Nick has only one option. He catches Aaron in a headlock and administers noogies. "It's for your own good," he explains, laughing as Aaron yelps. "To remind you that it don't matter how tall you get, I'll always be the big brother." 

Nick may be bigger and stronger, but Aaron's wiry, and soon he's dancing away from Nick, into the living room. Nick follows. 

"You got time to go get some dinner?" Nick asks, knowing it's unlikely. But dammit, he's missed Aaron. They could spend more time together, if Nick didn't mind being around his mom. But her management of Aaron is a topic they agreed to disagree on long ago, and Nick finds it's easiest to keep his nose out of it if he doesn't spend much time with the two of them. 

"Nah, man, I gotta be back up at the house in an hour. Mom's got some new stylist guy coming in tonight." Aaron's digging video games out of Nick's TV stand. "You wanna play some Dead or Alive?" He loads the disc into the Xbox and sprawls on the sofa. 

Nick laughs, and sits down beside Aaron as the music comes on. "Sure, man." It's good to be together, after weeks of nothing but phone calls. There'll be time enough to talk later. 

Nick feels himself relaxing as they play. He wonders what Aaron will say if he tells him about Lance. He won't be happy, Nick's fairly certain. 

Back at the beginning, Nick had done everything he could to keep Aaron from knowing about Lance. Aaron was just a kid, even if he was touring too, and it wasn't fair to expect him to keep a secret like that, so Nick had made sure to act perfectly normal, not say anything at all that would even hint at what was going on. 

Of course Aaron had figured it out in about fifteen minutes. He'd shrugged off Nick's being gay as unimportant, or not needing discussion anyway, and only quirked one corner of his mouth briefly at the _who_ of the equation. 

He started out as Lance's biggest fan, actually. Whoever Nick wanted, Aaron was on board with it. That lasted until the first time Aaron caught Nick off-guard, miserable and drunk enough not to hide it very well. When it comes to Nick, Aaron doesn't give second chances. 

Nick understands, of course. He feels the same, about Aaron and the girls. Still, that doesn't mean he has to talk about it right now, even if it feels a little weird not to tell Aaron something this important. He can wait until he's really sure, he figures, although God knows when that'll be. 

He doesn't realize how distracted he's been until Aaron tosses the controller aside and turns to face him. "Dude, what's up? I'm kicking your ass and you're not even bitching about it." 

"You are not," Nick replies automatically, but the paused screen speaks for itself. "Oh, fine. Maybe I'm lettin' you win, 'dyou ever think of that?" 

"No," Aaron says. "You've never done that before, why would you suddenly start now? You don't _look_ hung over." He tilts his head, taking a close look. "Nah. That's not it. So c'mon, bro, spill." 

Nick shakes his head, laughing. Shit. Why does he even try? Still, he doesn't know what words to put on it. "I'm..." he starts, and can't figure out what comes next. 

Aaron waits. He's always been way too patient when it comes to things like this, and Nick wonders if there'll ever come a day when Aaron's physical age catches up with the one inside. It's spooky sometimes. But then again, it's Aaron. 

"Okay," Nick finally says. He takes a breath. "I'm seeing Lance again." Which maybe isn't technically true; they haven't talked since that phone call on Monday, but he's pretty sure Lance hasn't changed his mind. 

Aaron just sits there. He doesn't move, doesn't blink. Just looks at Nick, long silent seconds. 

"I know," Nick says. "I know, he and I... But I think it's different this time, really." 

Aaron's hand flexes on the sofa cushion. "This is where I'm supposed to ask, 'How,' right? And you tell me all the ways that... _prick_... says he's changed? Is that it?" 

Nick winces. Yeah, basically. He guesses. "Um..." he says. 

Aaron finally moves. Stands up, kicking lightly at the coffee table in irritation; walks to the window and looks out a moment before turning back to face Nick. "Dammit," he says. "You deserve better than that. I thought... I thought you were done with that shit. Haven't you--thing's've been good this year, right?" He ends up back on the couch, sitting half in Nick's lap, offering comfort even when his disapproval's as obvious as anything could ever be, and Nick has to shut his eyes tight, because this, this isn't right. Aaron shouldn't ever feel like _he_ has to take care of _Nick_ , that's all wrong. 

"No," Nick says, hugging Aaron a minute, then sitting back, far enough that they can see each other. "I mean, yeah, everything's good, with me. Really. Cross my heart." 

"Well, then why--" 

Nick shrugs. "I... He _has_ changed, bro. He really has. I don't know if it's... space, or his group not bein' together, or just growing up, or what, but really, he's... different. And I... maybe I've changed, too." 

"You weren't the one who needed to change." 

Nick laughs. "I can always count on you, man, I know that. But, y'know. I'm not perfect, either. I've got my... stuff. Anyway, he called me a while ago, and he... we're trying. I think." 

Aaron frowns at him another minute, eyes still skeptical. "That why you were sucking so bad?" nodding at the Xbox controls. "You're all messed up about him?" 

"No. No, dude. I was trying to figure out--I wanted to tell you. But I didn't, too. Because, y'know, I know you don't like him." 

"I'll kick his ass if he hurts you again," Aaron says flatly. "But I don't, you shouldn't be keepin' secrets from me. That's all sorts of wrong." 

"I know," Nick says. " _That's_ what had me messed up before. Not Lance, just... not knowing what to say to you." 

Aaron sighs, relaxing a little. "Well, I'm not gonna say I'm happy about it. But--" He reaches up to ruffle Nick's hair. "I guess you're a big boy, huh? If you really..." He shrugs. "I can't tell you what to do." 

"I think I might..." Nick stops. No. He's not ready to say that. He's not sure why he even thought it, really, and he shakes himself a little, trying to figure out how to continue. "It might be serious," he finally says. "I don't know for sure yet. But... like you said, no secrets. Right?" 

"You can do better," Aaron says, shaking his head. "But yeah, man, I got your back. No matter what." He hugs Nick tight, pressing a kiss to Nick's cheek before letting go with a sigh. "I should go," he says, looking at his watch. "Mom'll be calling soon." 

Now it's Nick's turn to give Aaron a look. "Everything okay there?" he asks. He stays out of it, yeah, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. 

Aaron nods reassuringly. "It's cool," he says. "No worries." 

"Okay," Nick says, reluctantly getting up and walking with Aaron to the door. "Remember, I got your back, too, right?" 

Aaron grins. "Always." He wraps an arm around Nick's neck and gets one quick noogie in before whirling away, laughing. "Gotcha!" Nick swats at him, shaking his head. "Listen, if stuff finishes up early tonight, I'll come back and we can watch movies or something, yeah?" 

"Absolutely." 

And then he's gone; the house is silent again. Nick looks at the closed door for a minute before heading into the kitchen to see what he can put together for dinner. 

*** 

_Nick nearly choked when he found out who was introducing his set at KIIS's Jingle Ball. Then he reminded himself to be grateful it wasn't Lance._

_JC'd always seemed to like him okay, Nick thought. Not that they'd spent much time together. But he'd helped Nick and Lance out sometimes, back then. Covered for them._

_Nick didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't for JC to walk right up and hug him tight. "How are you, man?" He asked like he really wanted to know._

_"Good. I'm good," Nick answered. He was almost surprised to realize it was true._

*** 

Saturday morning, Nick wakes up, swallows, and groans. He's been feeling lousy for days. Probably some germ on the flight back from California. He's done everything right, extra sleep, lots of liquids, he even let the doctor come and give him a vitamin shot, and he still feels like half-warm crap. His throat's scratchy at best, and singing isn't fun at all. 

He doesn't really consider bailing on the show. He's not _dying_ or anything. It's just... kind of shitty. Since it isn't part of the real tour, they don't have the buses, and Valdosta's halfway from nowhere to nowhere, so he has to drive to Miami, then fly to Tallahassee--and flying when he's congested like this hurts like a sonofabitch--then drive some more. All to perform at an amusement park. With O-Town. 

Still, a show's a show. The people in the audience paid their money the same as people in LA or Chicago or anywhere else. He can't help but smile, remembering Kevin lecturing him about that, somewhere... he can't even remember where, or when, but it was a lot of years ago, and Nick was tired and whiny, and Kevin had given him what he called _a good strong dose of reality_. And Kevin'd been right, of course. So when Nick gets to the hotel he takes a long hot shower and gives himself five minutes to bitch and moan in private, and then tells himself to suck it up and get ready to perform. 

He feels better once he's on stage. He always does. He doesn't sound great, but the crowd gives him a big cheer when he apologizes for being sick, and he tries to make it up to them, bouncing harder than ever, playing off the guys in the band, forgetting everything except this moment, the music and the energy and the joy of it. The joy always comes through, no matter what. 

He makes it through the end of the show on fumes, going full blast until the moment he runs offstage after the encore, then feeling the energy drain out of him as soon as he's out of the spotlights. Shit. He's gonna be paying for this tomorrow. Well, he's got a couple of days off before the next show; he'll just have to get well before then. 

He's sitting in the sorry little trailer that's serving as a dressing room, trying to finish a bottle of water and get up enough energy to go back to the hotel, when there's a knock at the door. He turns, feeling his throat protest when he says "What?" as the door opens and Lance is standing there. 

"Hey," Lance says, smiling, stepping inside. 

Nick blinks. Oh God. He's _so_ not up to this. He looks like shit; he feels like shit. "What--what're you doing here?" 

"I came to see your show." That grin. "Remember, we'd talked about me flying out for one?" 

Shit. Right. Lance had wanted to come see a show, but then they'd never talked about it again, and... and he picked _this_ one? And then didn't say anything, just shows up, now, and expects... 

"Hope you had fun," Nick says, and every word hurts, and that doesn't do anything to improve his mood. "Maybe you had a chance to ride some rides earlier, huh?" He knows he's being obnoxious, but Jesus. He can think of a dozen smart-ass remarks Lance could make--and if he can think of a dozen, he's sure Lance can think of a lot more. 

Lance's smile fades a little. "Nick? I thought--I wanted to hear you, see you. It was a great show. I don't know what--" 

"Oh, please." Nick just wants to go lie down and die somewhere. "You don't have to pretend you liked it. You're not getting lucky tonight. I'm sick, in case you missed that announcement." 

Now the grin's gone entirely. "Yeah, I heard that. I could hear it, your voice, anyway. Does it hurt a lot?" 

Nick shrugs. "It's not so bad. But, y'know, I'm not really up for... whatever. Maybe if you'd called first, I could've warned you. Anyway, why don't you make your jokes and then I can get back to my hotel?" 

Lance opens his mouth, then closes it. Frowns. Scrubs a hand over his hair and takes a breath. "Okay. Take two. I told you I wasn't coming to your show to make fun of you. I know you said you wanted to slow things down, but this--" he gestures towards Nick, "is kinda going off the deep end a little." He pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is low. "Besides, you didn't ask me what I wanted, but Nick, I _don't_ want to slow down. I flew out here because I wanted to see you." 

The frustration in Lance's voice is tempered by something gentler, and the way it makes Nick's pulse race scares him. Is this crazy? Is he crazy? 

"You're feeling crappy and you just had to do a show," Lance continues. "I don't blame you for being in a bad mood. But I'm here, and I'm not leaving, so... tell you what, why don't we go back to the hotel together, I'll go out and get you some soup or something if they don't have room service, and then we can try this again?" 

"I told you, I just want to--" 

"Rest," Lance says, a little curtly. "Got that, loud and clear. You can keep your chastity belt on, if that'll make you feel better. Okay? Hotel, food, sleep. That sound all right?" 

"I could get all that without your help," Nick mutters. He knows he sounds like a jerk; Lance is being all nice and everything, but damn, he's _sick_ , he's not ready for this. "Fine. Whatever." 

He looks back up and Lance is still there, still waiting. "Okay, I said okay," Nick says, wincing as his throat protests. "Sorry," he adds grudgingly. 

Lance steps closer and sticks out a hand. Nick takes it after a second, and Lance helps to pull him up. "It's all right," he says quietly, letting go of Nick's hand and stepping away once Nick's on his feet. "Let's go, okay?" 

It doesn't take long to get back to the hotel, a couple of exits up the interstate. The best Valdosta has to offer is comfortable, but hardly the Four Seasons. On the bright side, security apparently got rid of the girls who'd been camped in the lobby earlier. Nick opens the door with his card and lets Lance into the room first, watching as he drops his backpack on the bed. Nick hangs back by the door as Lance walks over to the phone and picks up the guest services folder. 

"Looks like a pretty decent menu. You want me to order while you take a shower?" Lance looks up with nothing but concern on his face, and Nick feels something relax inside him. 

"Yeah. Okay." He strips off his shirt, dropping it on the floor as he heads into the bathroom. 

The steam and hot water have him feeling almost human again by the time he gets out of the shower. Pulling the curtain open, he sees clean sweats and a tee folded on the counter by the sink, and knows Lance must've brought them in. He doesn't know whether to be grateful for the clothes, or disappointed that Lance didn't stick around to make sure he found them okay. He _doesn't_ want to fuck, but still, this... this is kinda weird. Nick dries himself quickly, then rubs the condensation from the mirror and rolls his eyes at himself in the foggy glass. 

When he walks back into the room, it's dark except for a single lamp beside the table where Lance is sitting, arranging the food he's conjured up. Chicken soup, a fruit plate, and hot tea are set up on one side, with a grilled chicken sandwich, fries, and a soda on the other. Nick towels his hair as he crosses the room. "This looks great, man," he says, stealing one of the fries from Lance's plate. He thinks he should probably apologize for being so cranky earlier, but he _is_ sick, after all. Besides, Lance isn't sulking or bitching him out, so maybe everything's okay as is. 

"Hey," Lance laughs, "yours is over there." 

Nick grins at him and sits down, surprised when his stomach growls. The soup is good, and hot, and Nick eats a few spoonfuls before sitting back and spearing a piece of melon on his fork. "This is exactly what I needed." 

Lance smiles back at him, and Nick's heart beats a little faster. Before anything can happen, though, Lance reaches behind his chair and snags his pack off the bed. "Can I fix your tea for you?" He holds up a silver hip flask with a wicked grin. "My mama always says hot tea with whiskey and honey is the best thing for a sore throat." 

Nick laughs, and Lance grabs his tea. He adds a liberal splash of whiskey, then passes it back to Nick before spiking his own Coke. Lifting his glass, he looks across the table. "Here's to your tour. It's a great show." He looks at Nick like he's challenging him to argue the point. 

"Okay," Nick says. He nods at Lance and picks up his mug. "Thanks," he adds, and then drinks to avoid having to think of anything else to say. 

They eat quietly for a while, then. The whiskey has Nick yawning before he even finishes his soup. "I must really be sick," he moans as he pushes his empty bowl away at last. "You could drink me under the table tonight." 

Lance stands up and stretches, chuckling. "I could drink you under the table any night, Carter," he answers with a wink, and Nick's too tired to even flip him off. "You feel like watching TV or something? Or just want to lie down?" 

Nick ends up snuggling under the covers, still wearing the clothes Lance had laid out for him, while Lance settles with his back against the headboard, pulling a pillow up behind his neck. He reaches down and threads his fingers through Nick's damp hair. Nick feels sleepy and warm, like he's floating. 

It feels strange and right, both at the same time. Lance's gentle touches are turning him on, a little, and he thinks if Lance would kiss him or something he could probably get into it. But Lance isn't kissing him, and Nick's arms are feeling as heavy as his eyelids, and this is more than a little weird, but he's comfortable, warm, and halfway to sleep already. 

"Is this light gonna bother you?" The question is quiet, slipping through Nick's thoughts like Lance's fingers in his hair. "I thought I'd read for awhile, but I can go sit in the chair if you want." 

Nick opens his eyes enough to see a big book on Lance's lap, some John Grisham novel, and then yawns. "Ain't gonna bother me, man. Just keep on doing that, huh?" He nudges up with his head, and Lance's fingers keep moving. 

"No problem," Lance says softly. "I'm right here." 

*** 

_Eight hundred interviews about the album, and everybody kept trying to get him to admit how disappointed he was. He couldn't blame them. Hell, he'd've asked the same questions._

_Except he wasn't upset. Despite everything. It was weird, really. He'd never thought he was depressed before, but looking back, he had a hard time even recognizing himself. And that change--that was all the album, "failure" or not. He was living his fucking life-- **his** life, for the first time ever. It felt good. _

_Maybe that's the real reason why he didn't hang up on Lance when he first called._

*** 

It's still mostly dark when Nick opens his eyes. He can hear the sounds of I-75 outside the hotel window, early morning travelers on their way down to Florida or back home to Ohio and Michigan. Before he even rolls over, he swallows carefully to test his throat. Not as sore as after the show last night, so that's something to be grateful for, anyway. He's a little overwarm in the sweatpants; he must've pulled the tee off sometime during the night. 

Then Lance shifts in the bed behind him, and Nick rolls cautiously onto his back. Lance is still asleep, breathing quietly through his mouth, his hair flattened by the pillow, and Nick's reminded that he's never seen Lance in the morning like this. 

This time, Lance stayed. Even though Nick acted like an ass. He stayed, even though they didn't have sex. Nick closes his eyes and starts to tell himself that it doesn't mean anything, but the truth of Lance's gesture is too strong, and he can't even fool himself this time. Things are really different now. Lance is really different. Not perfect, no. But working on it. 

Nick sighs. He wants to be different, too. 

He's been doing a pretty good job of it, he thinks. This last month, the stuff with Lance, he mostly feels good about how he's acted. Still, he knows deep inside, there's a part of him that hasn't been able to let go. A little part of him that still wants Lance to hurt for the things he did before. But all that's a long time ago, now. 

Nick remembers Karen saying to him, _Sometimes you have to decide to trust_. Three months ago, sitting in her office and looking out at the water sparkling bright in the winter sun, that sounded kind of unbelievable. Now, in the dim light of morning, with Lance sleeping in the bed next to him, he's thinking that maybe she's right. 

He glances at the clock over Lance's shoulder. They really don't have to be awake for another hour or so. He closes his eyes, just for a minute. 

When he wakes up again, it's because something's tickling his shoulder. He turns his head, and Lance is there, fingertips slipping soft over Nick's shark tattoo and the wave surrounding it. 

"Nice," Lance says softly, trailing one finger over to Nick's chest. "Your new stuff. I meant to say, when we were out on the boat, but, y'know. I got a little distracted." 

Nick clears his throat, and it only hurts a little. The boat seems like a million years ago. Two weeks today. "Yeah?" 

Lance nods, and strokes the footprint tattoos above Nick's nipples. "I like 'em." Lance smiles. "They suit you." Then he leans over and plants two brief kisses on Nick's chest, one on each tattoo. After that, he settles back on his side of the bed, propped up on one elbow so he can still see Nick. 

"So, how's your throat feeling?" he asks. His eyes are still soft with sleep. 

"Better," Nick says. 

"Good," Lance nods. Then he yawns, and rubs a hand through his messy hair. 

"I think this is the first time I've ever seen you like this," Nick blurts out. "I mean, the first time we've, you know. Spent the night together." 

Lance blinks, then looks down at the sheet for a second. "Um. Hamburg was the first time," he finally says, glancing up at Nick with a wry smile. "But this is the first time since then." 

_Hamburg?_ God. Lance is right, though. When was that, 1997? Backstreet and 'Nsync were in the same hotel, and he and Lance were sharing because, because... oh, right. Some of the guys were sick. The two of them stayed in one of those little rooms with two little beds. And they'd ended up in one bed together. "How the hell did you remember that, man?" 

Lance grins sheepishly and ducks his head. "That night was a lot of firsts." 

Nick remembers more, suddenly, and chuckles. "Dawg, I was so hopin' you wouldn't know." 

Lance's look of confusion tells Nick that he's misunderstood something. "I meant, that was the first time I ever got a blowjob," Lance says, and he can't be blushing, can he? "Or, really, got naked with someone at all." 

Nick rolls over to face Lance so he can stare him down better. "Okay, then you're a big liar, because I totally remember you telling me you'd slept with a guy before." 

Lance laughs. "Like I was gonna tell you the truth about that? I was seventeen. And you were the most arrogant jerk I'd ever met." He reaches over and pokes Nick on the shoulder. "But back up. What didn't you want me to know? Come on. Spill." 

Nick sighs, and flops onto his back again. "Nothing, really." Lance snorts, and Nick takes a breath. It's years ago, it's like a different lifetime. It can't hurt to tell now. "Your first blowjob? Well, mine too. I mean, giving one." Blushing is kind of stupid, at this point, he thinks, but still, it's hard to just lie there and listen to the silence. 

"Wow," Lance finally whispers. "You were kind of a natural, man." 

Nick feels a giggle bubbling up inside him. "Like you'd know, dude. With a tongue on your dick for the first time?" 

Lance makes a noise of amused agreement. Then he rolls over onto his stomach, closer to Nick, cushioning his head on his arms, closing his eyes. 

Nick thinks back. He remembers more than he would've thought possible. Fumbling in the dark, afraid of getting caught, but more afraid of doing it wrong. The mess they'd made. The way he'd stormed out the next morning, unsure what any of it meant and just knowing he had to get away. 

"I was sorry about those hickeys," Lance mumbles quietly. He sounds drowsy, but when Nick looks, his eyes are open. "I didn't do it on purpose. I never really got a chance to say." 

The hickeys. Of course. That was what had made him so furious. Or what he'd yelled at Lance about, anyhow. Nick shakes his head as remembers the ribbing he took from the fellas. It hadn't really been that bad, though. Just embarrassing, mostly. "No, 's okay," he mutters. It's ancient history, after all. Easy to forgive now. 

There's silence for a long minute, and then Lance sighs. "I wish I'd known. Well, I wish _we'd_ known. That it was the first time for both of us." He leans up on both elbows and looks down into Nick's face. His eyes are warm, and Nick wants to pull him closer and kiss him. But then Lance speaks again. "No wonder you freaked out so bad. I wonder... well, whatever. Past is past." 

Nick shakes his head. "You wonder what?" 

Lance shrugs. Looks down at Nick's chest. "I wish I'd known why you were so mad. That's all." He sighs. "But, y'know, maybe it wouldn't have changed that much. We were kids." 

Nick stares a moment, inspecting the top of Lance's head, trying to figure out... Was he, was that why Lance never spent the night again? Because Nick called him--he can't even remember what he called him, but it was probably pretty mean. Shit. Nick draws a breath, and reaches out to rub a hand up Lance's back. His T-shirt is soft under Nick's palm. "I think maybe we wasted some time," Nick finally says, carefully. "I'm sorry." 

Lance's breath is warm on Nick's chest, and then he raises his head, arching into Nick's touch. His smile is slow but very, very sweet, and his voice is soft. "It's okay. As long as we can start making up for it now." 

_Yes_ , Nick thinks. Yes. There's nothing he'd like better. 

[end]   
  
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End file.
